


Three Nights

by alwayssomethingelse



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Canon Queer Relationship, Developing Relationship, F/F, Navigating Change, Older lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 18:28:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 32,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3738925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwayssomethingelse/pseuds/alwayssomethingelse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times Maggie spent the night at Jocelyn's house.</p><p>Set during 2x06, 2x07 and 2x08.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Power of a Good Carbonara

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aubry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aubry/gifts).



> I don't particularly buy into the tie in stories as canon, so have taken some aspects but ignored others: nothing massive, and nothing out of canon with the TV series.
> 
> Mrs Knight appears to have two names. In the TV props (nursing home bill etc) and in the tie in, she is Veronica. On IMDB she is Margery. I have gone with Veronica.
> 
> Each chapter is set between an event seen on screen (carbonara, the picnic, gin) and dawn the following day. For this first chapter, I have chosen to see the bench scene as being dawn the following day, because of where it is placed (at the end) in the "through the night" montage in 2x06 - I think that makes more sense than taking us slowly through the darkest hours of the night, into dawn, then suddenly back to sunset the night before. Because Maggie is still in the same clothes as she is in during the meal, I decided she must have stayed the night...
> 
> Many thanks to GirlOnABridge for cheer leading, and featherxquill for last minute beta-ing! 
> 
> Happy Birthday Aubry!

"And you stop looking so smug." Jocelyn is faintly aware that the whole time she has been explaining her problem to Ben, Maggie has been watching her. The look of affectionate amusement is warm in her eyes, and as she meets that gaze, something turns a somersault in Jocelyn's stomach. If anyone else had even attempted to engineer the conversation that has just taken place, she would have shut them down with the same flare that she is known for in court. But Maggie... Jocelyn thinks she would let Maggie get away with many Carbonaras, just to see that expression on her face.

"You're welcome." Maggie holds out her hand for Jocelyn's dish, and as she passes it over, the natural domesticity of all of this aches in her heart. Jocelyn cannot remember a time when she was with Maggie and not in love with her. To be sat here, in her own house, with Maggie presiding in the kitchen and at the top of the table, is so fitting it’s on the verge of painful. If she squints a bit at the history between them, Jocelyn can almost imagine that this is them, an old married couple entertaining her colleague. For that is how it would be, she has no doubt. Had she been strong. Maggie would be the cook for working meals; she would take over for the occasional dinner party. Ever practical, Maggie would be the one who could make something out of nothing; even now, Jocelyn is sure by the enticing smell from the kitchen that she's managed to throw a dessert of sorts together as well. Maggie would be the one who would keep her paperwork from overflowing; Jocelyn might return the favour with Maggie's stack of newspapers. They would both officially discourage each other from buying more books, whilst each would quietly egg the other on. Had she been strong. Maggie hands her back the plate, now laden with the creamy pasta, and Jocelyn nods her appreciation.

"Bon appetit!" Maggie starts into her own meal without further ado. Ben, like a hungry puppy, is already half way through his, apparently completely oblivious to the undercurrents between Jocelyn and Maggie. As she eats, Jocelyn continues to watch Maggie out of the corner of her eye, smiling at her obvious ease in the role she has taken on. It's the one good thing to have come out of her problem, this awareness of her peripheral vision; allowing her to privately take in sights she wouldn't have otherwise been able to see unnoticed. That said, when Maggie looks directly at her, she quickly pulls her gaze back to her food and feins complete absorption in the meal.

"So, what do you think?" Maggie addresses them both, her head turning back to Jocelyn.

"About the food? It's delicious." 

"Mm, it is. Thank you, Maggie," Ben adds, once he swallows his mouthful. 

"No, about the _trial_?" Maggie shakes her head. "Will you be able to persuade the judge?" Again, her gaze rests on Jocelyn, who lifts her eyes to half smile at Ben. His face is open and clear to read, worry written in his forehead, in the slight downturn of his lips. He raises an eyebrow at Jocelyn, and she twitches a finger, inclines her head, indicating he may answer the query.

"I hope we can. From a point of law, yes, we should be able to. The evidence wasn't compromised, Mark was witnessed at all times; he didn't gain close proximity to Joe. It was a reckless incident brought about by a grieving father and an unwise officer. We have all of that attested to, hopefully it's enough. Whether the judge will see it that way..." He looks directly at Maggie. "It will be up to Jocelyn to persuade her."

Maggie nods, glancing briefly at him before turning back to her. "Well?"

"Well what?" Jocelyn knows exactly what Maggie is asking, but she enjoys pulling the question out in full. 

"Are you prepared? Can you persuade her?" The concern, coupled with belief, is clear in Maggie's voice, and not for the first time, Jocelyn marvels at how important the people of Broadchurch have become to this woman, a non-native who has made this place her home. She's not sure she would ever feel that way about, say, Oxford, from her time there as a student, or even London, from the years she spent living and working there. Maggie has an ability, somehow, not only to be so at home here herself, so connected to the people and the place, but also to make others feel that same level of connection too. And that, Jocelyn muses, is a real gift. 

"I'm not worried." That's a lie, of course. She is. That the judge is fair, she has no doubt, but that said, she has shown an inclination to defer to Sharon so far. And so, Jocelyn is worried. But she is not going to show that to Ben, not at this juncture. "We have that sworn statement, we can provide proof that the defence's claim is overstated... I will clearly and concisely pull it apart, and I have no doubt the judge will agree that the course of justice can still be followed." Jocelyn nods to Ben. "He's put in good work today, getting hold of that officer, and the recordings." She flashes him a rare, twinkling smile, and is amused to see a light blush form in his cheeks. Maggie eyes her for a long moment after she finishes speaking, and Jocelyn knows that this conversation is not over yet. However, all her friend does is nod and glance round the table.

"All finished? Hand me your plate, Ben." Carefully, Maggie stacks the two, and then holds out her hand expectantly for Jocelyn's. "Now, who would like apple pie and ice cream? It's not much, but it'll do." 

Ben nods with delight. "That would be lovely. I can't believe it takes you to be here to get such treatment!" He glances apologetically across at Jocelyn. "I mean," he falters, embarrassed, "it's been a long day, and I'm very grateful." Maggie grins broadly, and Jocelyn can hear her wordless repetition of 'you never change'. This is not the first time she has cooked for Jocelyn during a case, although it has been a long while. 

She hands her plate back to Maggie with a smile, and observes: "It takes a journalist to make something from nothing. I didn't realise I had apples in the house."

"You didn't." And now Maggie really does look smug. "I know you. I came prepared." She lifts the stack of plates. "Come on then, make yourself useful and bring that dish in." Jocelyn does as she's told, leaving Ben at the table. 

In the kitchen, Maggie sets the plates down by the dishwasher, and Jocelyn slips past her to put the casserole into the sink. Hands free, Maggie sidles up behind Jocelyn, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder.

"I'm not going to apologise, because he needed to know." Her head shifts in to Jocelyn's ear. "But I hope you don't mind too much." 

"Trust you to be ever begging forgiveness rather than asking permission...interfering hack that you are." But Jocelyn's tone and smile belie her words. She glances fondly back at Maggie. "Anyway, if that's the price of a good meal, I might forgive you, just this once. But don't do it again." She smirks, moving to open the dishwasher, feels Maggie's hand slip off her shoulder and fights back the urge to touch her fingers to the spot where it lay. Compartments. That's the key. And she is technically still working. As she loads the plates away, she hears Maggie removing a dish from the oven, scents the freshly baked pastry with pleasure. Apple pie was her mother's favourite, and Jocelyn has never tasted as good as she made it. Perhaps, if there's some left, she might bring it in to her in the nursing home tomorrow evening. 

"I put the ice cream in the freezer, will you bring it through?" Maggie calls to her from the doorway. Jocelyn nods absentmindedly. She finds the tub, and the serving spoon laid on the counter by the dessert plates. Maggie has managed all of this evening without once asking her where something lives, nor yet sounding like she had to search each utensil out. Almost as if she were at home here. Jocelyn shakes her head. She can almost hear Maggie accusing her of marinating. Ha! If only she knew. Carrying the dishes through, she finds Maggie and Ben in animated conversation.

"Thanks, petal." Maggie tilts her head up, brushing stray hairs out of the way. "Ben was just saying he was going to give you a lift to the court tomorrow morning, but I could do that if you want? It's senseless to have him come all the way back here only to drive back into town." She makes no comment about the reason Jocelyn _needs_ a lift, and for a moment, Jocelyn entertains the idea that she doesn't even know. But of course she does, even if Ben hasn't told her. She has an uncanny knack for finding out these things. "It seems daft," Maggie presses her point, "when I'm here, and going that way anyway." Jocelyn glances at the both of them as she sets the dishes down, and nods. 

"Since you seem to have worked it out between you, I have little choice in the matter! You don't mind?"

"Why should I mind?" Maggie's laughter rings out. "And it gives Ben precious more minutes with his family, not that you'd think of that." The rebuke is gentle, teasing, and Jocelyn accepts it with a nod.

It's true, she doesn't give thought to the home life of colleagues, any more than she ever gave thought to her own, when she was Ben's age. Her own mentor at the time had high expectations of her, though not as high as Jocelyn's own, and had pushed and pushed until she thought she could give no more. But then, home life and work life had always been combined for her, the daughter of one of the premier QCs of his time. She was studying law from her father's books when the other teens of her age were listening to the Beatles. When they were emulating silver screen idols, Jocelyn was memorising turns of speech, hand movements and how to throw a verbal punch into an opposing witness statement. Even when they went out to relax, fishing off the coast, just the two of them, the conversation would be around points of law; how to argue for or against any particular determination, how to bring a judge round to your side. She was never more gratified than when she saw her father's pride during her first closing speech. And then he had died, younger than she is now. Suddenly, a massive stroke in his sleep. 

After the first shock wore off, she swore to be to others the mentor he had been to her, to keep his presence and belief in the legal system alive. In a sense, when Hardy had asked her about children, she could have said that each junior she had taken on through her long career had been a child to her, and she the strict, uncompromising parent. Ben is the latest in a long line of Jocelyn's children, but certainly one she likes more than most. Perhaps she is getting soft in her old age. 

"Pudding." Maggie's voice breaks through her reverie, and Jocelyn smiles. 

"Sorry, I was miles away." She accepts the proffered dish with a nod and a swift sideways glance at Maggie. "Ben," she turns to him, eyes open, and, she hopes, caring. "Maggie's right."

"Ha! _There's_ a first!" But Maggie hushes as Jocelyn waves a hand at her.

"We've got this covered, I think. How about you have the night off when we've finished the meal? Go home, see your family..." She can't think what else to say. "Have a rest. Hmm?"

Ben looks like Christmas has come early. He tries to hide it, but Jocelyn is too quick, too observant to miss the delight that lights his eyes. "That… Well, thank you very much, I'm... If you're sure, that is? Do you need other files recorded? I could bring them with me."

"No!" Jocelyn laughs at his willing, and repeats herself, softer this time. "No, if I say have a rest, I mean it. Anyway, Maggie can read to me if needs be." She glances toward her friend, who raises her eyebrows in mock displeasure. 

"I can, can I?" But her tone is light, rippling with amusement.

"Yes, you can. Make up for your bribery earlier." Jocelyn turns back to her junior. "I mean it, Ben. Make the most of it, get an early night. I'm not often so accommodating, as Maggie can tell you." Jocelyn grins broadly, tipping him a wink, and in his befuddlement, Ben is hard put to stammer his thanks. To her left, Maggie nods appreciatively, before attending to her pudding.

"You're a great cook, Maggie." Ben observes, when he has his breath back. "Don't tell my wife, but this is the best apple pie I've tasted." 

She smiles at the praise, but her eyes turn to Jocelyn. "The real question is, does it come to Mrs Knight's standard? I've been working at this for fifteen years..." Maggie's eyes twinkle, and she's clearly making the comment tongue in cheek, but Jocelyn thinks she notes a glint of concern under the light tone. "Well?"

"I'd say you're getting there." Jocelyn smirks and quirks an eyebrow, glancing at Maggie under hooded eyes. "Perhaps a touch more ground almond in the pastry, and a little ginger in the spice?" 

"High praise. You mark my words, Ben, I'll perfect this yet." Maggie chuckles as she scoops up the final crumbs and dregs of ice cream. 

"Seems like you missed your calling. Did you never think of becoming a cook instead of a reporter?" Ben turns his head to Maggie.

"Not my scene, really. Not enough people and far too much pressure." She fingers her fringe out of her eyes. "Besides, if I'd done that, I'd never have come here, and then where would you be?"

"Underfed and overworked, obviously." He grins sheepishly, and continues, "but surely there's more pressure in a newspaper? Deadlines and so on?" 

"Mm, different type of pressure though. Especially on the Echo. The Herald was different, I admit. Much more cutthroat, less respect for the people whose lives we report on... And that's a fairly decent paper, not like the rag I started out on. I hated that job with a passion, nearly made me give up journalism." She pauses, eyes cloudy, then brightens again. "But the Echo is nice. Well, obviously, I set the deadlines! And I try and steer the moral compass..." 

Jocelyn barks a laugh. "Try telling that scrap of a lad Oliver! He seems like he'd be right at home on one of the tabloids."

"Don't I know it." Maggie groans and shakes her head."I don't know what I'm going to do with him, I really don't. I mean, he has a good eye for a story, but he's so indiscriminate, and goodness knows, he wouldn't recognise a scruple if it hit him in the face. D'you know, I sometimes think he's more concerned about the story of this trial than he is about the people - his own family, for heaven's sake!" She sighs, and looks at the empty plates. "But enough of me moaning. Tea or coffee?" 

"Actually, I think I'm fine as I am, thank you. And if Jocelyn's certain..." Ben looks from one to the other.

"I am."

"Well then, maybe I might get on. I might even be home in time to read the kids' bedtime story." He blushes again. "I like to do that, when I can." 

"Awww. What age are they, Ben?" Maggie sounds genuinely interested, and Jocelyn watches her, fascinated. In the couple of months she's worked with him, she doesn't think she's ever inquired about his family, other than the odd 'all okay? Good...' without pausing to hear more than the first word of his response. Not that she doesn't care for his health and happiness, exactly - and of course that extends to his nearest and dearest... It's just, well, it doesn't have any bearing on the work in hand, providing everything is fine. Anything that doesn't relate to the case is only a cause for losing focus. And Jocelyn doesn't do that. So it never occurs to her to ask colleagues these kind of questions outside of work, to have this curiosity about people she doesn't know, who aren't involved in a trial. 

"Molly is three, and Hannah is five." He smiles with delight at the sound of their names, a real proud dad, Jocelyn thinks. "They're lovely. Hannah's quite quiet, but Molly's out going, like Laura, their mum. They're still mad on the Disney film, what d'you call it, _Frozen_. Laura says she's getting sick of hearing that one line from the song, over and over again." Maggie beams at him, enchanted.

"They're great at that age, aren't they?" 

"Yeah. And they grow so quickly, too. If I'm away on a job for a few weeks, I come back and they've visibly changed. It's scary." Ben glances at his watch. "Well, I'd best hit the road. You're sure about tomorrow morning, Maggie?"

"Of course I am. Get on and see those girls!" Maggie rises from her seat in time with Ben. "I'll see to this one, get her to the court on time, never fear." 

Jocelyn raises her eyebrows and glances at Maggie with amusement before standing herself, and nodding to Ben. "Thanks for your work today, Ben." She leads the way to the hall, where he's left his suit jacket, which she hands to him. "Be sure and get a good rest." He nods, a hasty smile, and looks back to Maggie, bringing up the rear.

"Thanks again for the food. I really appreciate it."

They follow him outside, standing on the doorstep until Ben's car pulls out of the drive. Then Maggie turns to Jocelyn, a warm, open smile on her face.

"Shall we have that tea, then? And you can practice your speech on me."

"I can, can I?" Jocelyn snorts. "How do you know I want to?"

Maggie smirks. "You always do. Come on." She ushers Jocelyn back in, closing the door firmly behind them. 

"Actually, I rather fancy a glass of wine. Will you join me?" 

"Ooohh, that's very tempting. Just the one, then." They go through to the kitchen, where Jocelyn turns to the wine rack, and pulls out a Pinot Noir. 

"This do?" 

Maggie barely looks at it. "I'm sure it'll be lovely, knowing your taste. You pour, I'm going to clear the table." She is as good as her word, loading the dishwasher then wiping down the counters. Five minutes later, she joins Jocelyn in the conservatory. The evening sun has fallen behind the house, but casts deep pink and orange hues against the mackerel clouds hanging over the cliffs opposite. Maggie breathes out a sigh of pleasure as she eases herself into one of the wicker armchairs. "Beautiful."

Jocelyn hands her a glass, and clinks it with her own, a smile playing about her lips. She stays standing, gazing out at the evening sky, running over the morning's speech in her mind. Without looking, she can feel Maggie's eyes on her, waiting. She places her glass on the window sill, and, without turning, begins to speak.

"My lady, the officer who let Mark Latimer in has been interviewed. Mark spoke to the defendant through the wicket _only_." Jocelyn flicks her hand upright, emphasising her point. Unwittingly, she begins to pace alongside the window, continuing. "At no point was he in close physical proximity to the defendant, nor did he have access to any information or evidence held by the police at that time." She pauses, turns to look Maggie directly in the eye. "He was escorted from the premises, having been attended at all times. The defence's argument is overstated and gives too much credence to the event that occurred." Jocelyn paces back up the room, stops in front of Maggie, continues to look straight at her. "No evidence was compromised, no physical intimidation occurred. We have a sworn statement to this effect from the officer who was present. My lady, it was an unfortunate incident, but the process of justice can still flow. This doesn't mean the defendant cannot have a fair trial." She leans back and picks up her wine, then stands eyeing Maggie. "Well?" 

Maggie nods, slowly. "Good. Very good. Do you show the judge the statement?" 

"It will be available to her if she wishes." 

"Is 'to this effect' superfluous? Couldn't it be heard as a suggestion that you're not being accurate?" Maggie leans on her hand, considering Jocelyn, forehead wrinkled and mouth slightly open."Also, 'held by the police _at that time_ ' could be misread as Mark having access at other times, surely?" Jocelyn frowns at the criticism momentarily, before giving a brief jerk of her head.

"You're right." She runs through the speech again, without the phrases; practices her pauses, her inflections, the moments when she will look directly at the judge. This time, Maggie applauds.

"Well I'm persuaded."

"You're easily satisfied. Would that the judge were as partisan." Jocelyn lifts her cigarette case from the overflowing coffee table. "You don't mind?" As an afterthought, she proffers it to Maggie, who shakes her head, and reaches in her pocket for the odd-looking plastic replacement. 

"Not in the slightest. I'm quite content with my own these days." Maggie takes a puff. "You sound good. But I got the feeling before that you aren't as certain as you were making yourself out to be?" Maggie's eyes sharpen as she looks at Jocelyn. "What weren't you saying?" 

Jocelyn snorts. "The perils of speaking in front of a journalist. Will you ever leave the day job at the door?" She sits down in the wicker armchair, crosses her legs, folds her arms and rolls her shoulders as she glances at her friend. 

"The day you do." Maggie retorts. 

Jocelyn rolls her eyes. "Fair." She pauses to light her cigarette, inhales deeply. Turns the filter between her finger and thumb. "It's hard to know. I trust the judge, she comes across as impartial and unbiased. But..." She shakes her head, eyes distant. "She takes more from the defence than I like. Sharon is a Rottweiler; she's showy, and argumentative. She doesn't let things go." She pauses. "Like Prince Naseem in the boxing ring." Jocelyn glances at Maggie to check that she gets the reference. "They've worked together before, as well."

"You think that would affect her judgement?" Now Maggie looks worried.

Jocelyn considers, exhaling slowly. "No... Not as such. I have no grounds to think that. It's just..." She trails off, for once uncertain, unable to articulate her precise concern. "Unfortunately, the defence have a good point. The investigation was flawed. Procedure _wasn't_ followed, to the extent that there are judges who would laugh it out of court. Everyone involved has been reckless, police and witnesses alike. It's up to me to do what I can with that, but I'll not lie, Maggie, it's an uphill battle." She sighs, before firing a warning. "And don't you dare quote me on that." 

Maggie laughs and shakes her head. "I left the notebook at the door, if not my curiosity. I'll not write a word." She takes another puff. "It's difficult. None of us want to see this trial fall apart. We all want justice to be served." Her eyes darken. "The family need it. The town needs it. But..." Jocelyn watches her closely. "I can't forget what we learnt from Karen, the reporter from the Herald who came down during the investigation. Alec Hardy has always been a loose cannon, whatever reasoning he had for it, and I know he did have his reasons. But best practice is as foreign to him as it is to Oliver. If this trial collapses..." She faces Jocelyn, eyes tight, lips pursed. "It can't collapse, Jocelyn. We all need this. You _must_ persuade the judge."

"You don't have to tell me that. I'll do what I can with what I have." The repetition of these words bring Hardy into the forefront of Jocelyn's mind, and his other comments surface in her thoughts. She gazes at Maggie for a moment, before dropping her eyes, lest they give her away. "But enough of the trial." She lifts the wine bottle from where she'd secreted it, by the radiator, and fills their glasses. "What have you been doing, these last few months, asides from reporting on the sordid minutiae of people's lives?" She takes a last pull at her cigarette and extinguishes it. "I haven't seen that much of you."

Maggie raises her eyebrows. "You mean you think I have a life outside of the Echo? That's news to me." She smirks. "Not much really. The cutbacks from head office have been a right bugger. I haven't done so much unpaid overtime since my early twenties, and honestly, I'm beginning to feel a bit too old for it, some days, at any rate." Maggie laughs at herself, rueful. "And the refurbishment of the old offices has only added to that - not that I mind the damp finally being dealt with." She pauses, looking like she's debating what to say next. "You know I split up with Lil?" Maggie glances over at Jocelyn, a sharp, gauging look that she can't quite interpret.

"I didn't, no." Jocelyn wonders if she should sympathise. She'd never met Lil, they weren't together all that long, as far as she can recall. It's not as if she has encouraged visitors these last few years, and while Maggie tends to ignore all but the the bluntest, most scathing dismissals, she rarely brings anyone else with her. "I'm...sorry to hear that?" 

"Don't be." Maggie shakes her head. "It wasn't working out, for either of us." She gives Jocelyn another of those sly looks. "We both wanted different things from life, and Lil certainly didn't want to live in a small seaside town, more fool her." 

Jocelyn nods, understanding. Wonders what to say next. She could ask if Maggie has her eye on anyone else, but that's never been their style. Over the years, Maggie has had various partners, some Jocelyn has met, others she just heard about, frequently after the fact. None of them ever seemed to be the right fit for Maggie; either they loathed the locale, or were completely disinterested in the people - and Jocelyn knows Maggie loves Broadchurch for its people as much as its beauty - or they had differing cultural tastes. Either way, there's always been a reason for them to depart. Maggie never seems that bothered - or if she is, she doesn't share the emotion with Jocelyn. 

Outside, the light is failing. The clouds have gathered in, and the sky is heavy and dark. Jocelyn watches it for a few moments, sipping her wine. The quiet is comfortable between them; easy and weightless. She glances back at Maggie, curled in her seat, head propped on her hand, eyes thoughtful. How many times have they sat like this, over the years? Sometimes chatting about work, other times about the books they've read recently; still other times wordless, as they are now. She could watch Maggie take in the world around her for nights on end, and not be bored. As the shadows grow deeper across her friend's face, a question that has been floating in the periphery of Jocelyn's mind comes to the fore.

"Why didn't you tell me about Susan Wright? Before, I mean. When it happened?" She watches as Maggie processes the question, worries that it's too forthright, too accusatory. Finally, moments after Jocelyn has begun to feel really concerned that she sounds like she's prying, or that she somehow deserved to know, Maggie answers.

"I..." She stops, momentarily struck for words. "I suppose I thought you had enough on your mind." Maggie shoots a direct glance at Jocelyn, eyes wide open at first, then blinking rapidly. "I mean, it was only a few days before Jack..." She flounders again. 

Jocelyn nods. She knows what Maggie isn't saying. They had disagreed about her friend, prior to his death. Maggie had come looking for information, which Jocelyn wouldn't give, and sharp words had passed between them; about privacy, about the morality of the press, about what the public should or shouldn't know. When Jack's body was found, it was Maggie who had walked up the hill to Jocelyn with the news, wearing metaphorical sackcloth and ashes. She had wanted Jocelyn to hear it from her, personally. After the first horror wore off, Jocelyn had accepted her friend's heartfelt apology, and had even come to realise that Maggie's own role in the tragedy was not as instrumental as she first thought; but that Maggie felt the guilt of it nonetheless. 

"And honestly, things were hectic round then. I mean, the paper was so busy, I was in the office most nights till midnight, and back first thing." Maggie sighs. "That probably had just as much to do with Lil leaving as anything. She said I was married to my work." She cracks a resigned grin. "Which is true, but it still hurts to be accused of it." 

Jocelyn gazes at her, heart sore for the sting she can hear in Maggie's account. She knows what it's like to be on the receiving end of that particular phrase. 

"I see." She pauses, debating whether she should apologise; for not having been there, for not being the friend to Maggie that Maggie is to her. But the words won't come. Instead, an admittance. "I should have realised."

"What? _Why_?" Maggie looks startled. 

Jocelyn composes herself. "I mean, I should have known you had that much going on. Should have been more aware. I've spent too long lately being so...locked up in myself. It's made me rather blind." She laughs, a bitter, sarcastic sound. Maggie shakes her head.

"Well I'll not disagree that you've spent far too much time brooding, you know my thoughts on that, and it's a delight to see you so alive again petal, it really is. But don't carry my failures of communication as well, there's no need for that." Maggie smiles at Jocelyn, who feels relief for a tension she didn't even realise she was holding. She reaches for the bottle and tops their glasses up, leaving it empty. Maggie continues, regardless. "So how about we say no more about it?" 

Jocelyn nods, turning the stem of her glass in her fingers, thoughtful. There have been times when Maggie has landed up with her, that she could have cursed her, for disturbing her peace, her privacy. And yet, it is through Maggie that she gets the clearest vision of herself. She, Jocelyn, who thought herself so self-aware, requires a friend to give her clarity. Not that she'd ever admit it to anyone else. It's difficult even to show Maggie. She feels so vulnerable when she does, so open to attack. And Jocelyn fears feeling vulnerable even more than she abhors failing. That's why she stopped taking cases, really; it's why she has shut herself away from people in general. Bizarrely, she realises, these actions have only served to give her more of a horror of being cornered by situations she hasn't prepared for. She looks up to find Maggie watching her.

"How're you doing? Jocelyn? Really?" The concern in her voice is apparent. "Outside of the courtroom, how're you coping with being back in the world?" Maggie rests her cheek on her hand, gazing at her, unblinking.

Jocelyn sighs. Trust Maggie to ask the most prescient question; to have noticed the cracks. 

"Why ask when you already know?"

"I don't!" Maggie remonstrates.

"Well you wouldn't ask if you didn't have a fair idea." Jocelyn casts a sharp look at Maggie, who tilts her head, considering.

"Mm, maybe. But I'd rather not jump to conclusions."

"I..." Jocelyn finds herself drying up. "I'm enjoying it. Well, mostly." She thinks of the crashed car, having to field concerned questions from Ben that night, and the morning after. "There are...adjustments I need to make. But on the whole, yes." She pauses, and watches Maggie's face. Clearly, she's waiting for more. "I admit, the noise is taking a lot of getting used to again. That's probably the hardest bit. That and dealing with impromptu...situations...where people want answers and reassurances that I can't give." Jocelyn takes a large sip of wine, holds it in her mouth, then swallows hard.

Maggie nods. "It's difficult for you, I know."

"I feel...ambushed, sometimes. Unprepared. Not in terms of the trial, mostly, but outside of it. It's so difficult to know how someone is going to react..."

"...When you haven't scripted your lines?"

"Yes, precisely. And that..." Jocelyn fades off, unable to articulate her frustration. 

Maggie's eyes warm. "You're doing _wonderfully_ , petal." Her reassurance sounds so genuine, Jocelyn almost believes it. She can feel her lips twitch into a half smile, and meeting Maggie's gaze finishes the job.

"Thank you."

Another pause, and Jocelyn is almost thinking of suggesting they retire to the sitting room, when Maggie asks another question that jolts her.

"How's your mum?" Maggie knew Veronica long before the Alzheimer's had become visible; in fact, it was Jocelyn's mum who had told her about this lovely, friendly journalist who had moved to the town. They had met over shopping trolleys in the supermarket, at first, before discovering a mutual passion for wild flowers, which led to Maggie accompanying Veronica on her daily walks. It had been Maggie who first noticed the signs of the dreaded illness; who brought them to Jocelyn's attention; who tried to console both mother and daughter as they fought against the reality of the diagnosis. And when Jocelyn was still in London, it was Maggie who visited Veronica regularly, first in her house, keeping an eye on the carers, and then in the nursing home. She would ring Jocelyn with updates, subtly trying to prepare her for the changes she would meet each occasion she came back after a time away. Sometimes, Jocelyn would joke that Maggie was more of a daughter to Veronica than she herself was, and perhaps that was why, when Jocelyn moved home, Maggie had lessened her visits. But her care is still evident by the tone of her voice.

"She's... Oh, Maggie. She's not the woman she was." Jocelyn hears the break in her voice. Her throat feels constricted, painful. "She's eating okay, so long as someone feeds her... I try and get in for breakfast most days, though it's been more difficult since..." She can feel her cheeks burning, and hurries on. "But it's just so hard. She's not my mum anymore. Her sparkle, her warmth...the way she could go from mid sentence about some character in a book she was reading, to pointing out butterflies in the garden, or noticing a flower that had just opened. I heard the first Cuckoo the other day, and when I told her, she just looked at me, so blankly..." Jocelyn surreptitiously wipes a tear away from her cheek, hoping the low light will disguise her need to do so. "She always used to phone me up, just to tell me, when she heard it." There's a definite catch in her voice now, and she doesn't trust herself to say any more.

"Oh sweetheart." Maggie's voice aches with compassion, as she extends her hand over to grasp Jocelyn's arm. "I'm so sorry."

Jocelyn nods, curtly, as Maggie removes her hand. The sympathy is soothing in a sense, but makes her own pain all the more real, because Maggie clearly recognises it for what it is. The guilt of a daughter who has not always been there; who didn't phone as often as she could, whose flying visits home were few and far between, who didn't want to spend mornings in the local cafe with her mother and friends. As she reminded herself the other day, it's easy to recognise mistakes in hindsight - impossible to fix these particular ones now. She takes a deep, steadying breath.

"I'm also not convinced by the home." Jocelyn glances over at Maggie, eyes veiled in the quarter light. "I...spoke to the manager the other day, and didn't get a straight answer out of him, which concerns me."

"How do you mean?" Maggie sounds curious.

Jocelyn tilts her head, considering. "Maybe it sounds paranoid, but I don't trust someone who doesn't answer a question properly. He made me think of a politician." She gives a short laugh, which Maggie echoes. 

"You'll never change, will you? Once a lawyer, always a lawyer. What did he say?" 

Jocelyn smiles, and sighs. "Perhaps you're right. But when I asked how he thought she was doing, his answer was to say that she's no bother." She imitates the irritating man, making quotation marks in the air. "No bother?" Jocelyn can hear the indignance in her voice. "Honestly Maggie, if I hadn't been in such a rush to get to the Court, I'd have taken him apart then and there. It's pretty basic, you'd think, answering a direct question truthfully." She watches Maggie nod, her expression difficult to read, but Jocelyn thinks she senses concern. "What would you do?" 

Maggie takes a while to answer. "Well, I never had nursing homes to deal with, for my parents. Chances are he just hadn't looked at the nurses' reports, and didn't want to be misquoted - or he genuinely thought you were asking whether she was a bothersome patient. But I'd be inclined to press him, put him on the spot. You're the one paying the bills, after all. You deserve an honest answer. Cross examine him." Her eyes twinkle. "It's what you're good at."

"Hmmm." Jocelyn feels herself colouring, can sense her own discomfort. She does not want to admit just how difficult things are, but Maggie is too quick for her, her journalist's sixth sense must be tingling, Jocelyn thinks wryly.

"What?" Maggie edges forward in her seat a little. " _Jocelyn._ What aren't you saying?"

"For goodness' sake Maggie. Enough!" The words may be sharp, but Jocelyn can't find it in her to be annoyed at Maggie, not after the evening they've had. Maggie continues to gaze at her; eyes steady, concern apparent in the curve of her shoulders. Jocelyn sighs. "Oh alright. I'm..." She falters, hating herself for making the admission, more still for the fact that the problem exists in the first place. "The bill is rather steep. That's all. Easier now I have a bit of work, so I suppose I should thank you." She gives a bitter laugh, and hopes she's managed to appease Maggie's curiosity. However, a change of topic can't hurt. "How about we go through? It's getting cold in here." Jocelyn stands to emphasise her point. Maggie seems to accept that the subject is closed.

"Actually, I should probably get going... I've had far more than I meant to. I'll have to walk down, and leave the car here if that's ok with you?" Maggie looks up at her. "Bad influence you are, I was only going to have one glass!" She grins at Jocelyn as she stands up. "All my good intentions ruined."

"I think we both knew they weren't likely to last." Jocelyn returns. "But why bother going home?" She turns limpid eyes on her friend. "You know there's a spare bed, I can lend you a nightdress. Makes more sense than leaving now only to come back first thing." She tries to glance at her watch, eyes refusing to focus; gives up. "I warn you, I want to be at the Court for eight." 

"And it's late enough as it is." Maggie yawns. "Well, if you really don't mind, that would be lovely. Much as a nighttime stroll is nice, I'd much rather an extra half an hour in bed!" 

Jocelyn nods and turns to the door into the kitchen. "I'll get upstairs sorted. Make yourself a drink if you want. You know where everything is." She leaves Maggie to it. Up the stairs, across the landing, into the spare bedroom - she knows she left paperwork there the other week, but at least the sheets are clean on, if not at all recent - she changed them the last time Maggie stayed the night. A quick search in a cupboard and Jocelyn finds some spare towels and a facecloth. She lifts the files and takes them through to her own room; goes to her drawers and pulls out a nightdress. It might be a little long on Maggie, but it'll do. A thought strikes her and she goes through to the en suite. Yes, she does indeed have an unopened toothbrush. Good. That should be everything. She leaves the light on, and returns to the spare room, lays out the nightie, puts the toothbrush with the towels, and looks around. Nods. Yes, that will do. 

Back downstairs, Jocelyn finds Maggie peering at one of her book cases, her hand on the spine of an old John Mortimer. 

"You can borrow something if you like?" Jocelyn always reads a few pages before bed, no matter how tired she is, and she is aware Maggie does the same. "You know there's more upstairs." 

"Thanks, but I think even Rumpole is a bit much tonight." Maggie puts the book back. "I've got a travelogue in my bag, might be nearer the mark." Jocelyn raises her eyes to the ceiling and shakes her head. 

"That would wake me up rather than send me to sleep!" She laughs, and Maggie joins her. For a moment they are so lighthearted and gentle together that Jocelyn almost forgets that what has drawn them into this situation is the murder of a young boy. Then the realisation gives her pause. "Well, I had better turn in too." She sighs. "I don't have to show you where you're going. So..." Maggie nods.

"See you in the morning then." She passes by Jocelyn, stops to rest a hand on her shoulder, a brief, warm touch. Glances at Jocelyn's face, and opens her mouth, then closes it again. For a moment, Jocelyn debates lifting her hand to Maggie's in some sort of reassurance. Whether it's for herself or for Maggie she's not sure - but the moment passes, and she hears Maggie murmur "sleep well," followed by her footsteps through the kitchen. A quiet clink tells Jocelyn she's taken a mug of something upstairs with her. It's a good idea. She can't afford to have a wine head in the morning either. She waits to hear Maggie go upstairs, her heart pulsing far faster than it has a right to.

Jocelyn makes herself a cup of cocoa, the familiar action of heating the milk and stirring the powder in grounding her again. She puts the pan in the dishwasher, casts around the kitchen for anything else, and sets the machine to start. Sets up the morning's porridge to soak. Does her nightly round of checking the doors and windows. Once satisfied, she brings her drink upstairs, stepping precisely over the floor boards that squeak, closing the bedroom door softly behind her. Puts the drink down on the bedside table, turns on the reading lamp, and goes to close the curtains. Pauses, looking out at the view.

The clouds have cleared around the moon, letting its pale light shine through, down on to the sea below. There's a fair breeze, south easterly, blowing waves against the harbour wall. The water heaves, tumultuous white horses rolling in and breaking on the beach beyond. For a moment, she feels one with her environment. She said she could never escape her home, and nor would Jocelyn want to - it is as much a part of her as the law. And right now, the sea knows how she feels. 

Jocelyn lifts her fingers to feel the spot on her shoulder that Maggie's hand touched. Imagines it had stayed there, and that she had actually had the temerity to add her own then. How Maggie's hand might feel below her own, how it might slide gently off the curve of her shoulder, down onto her chest, lingering on the silk of her blouse. How those fingers might have rucked the soft material back, edged underneath to stroke her skin. Unwittingly, Jocelyn's hand follows the track of her mind. How gentle Maggie's touch would be on her breasts; how pleasant her fingertips would be to feel - featherlight movements that would make Jocelyn's heart tremble. How Maggie might lean in and kiss her. How she would kiss back, unafraid...

A creak and the sound of the spare room's door shutting springs Jocelyn back to reality. She tuts at herself, smooths her top, and, with one last longing look at the night sea, closes the curtains. Returns to the side of the bed, takes out her nightdress from under the pillow. It is short work to get changed, to lay out this evening's clothes to wear again, and to go through to the en-suite. Jocelyn brushes her teeth, washes her face; pauses to consider the reflection looking back at her for a moment, before a frown creases her brow and she grasps for the towel. She fills her hot water bottle from the hot tap; it's not a cold enough night to warrant traipsing back downstairs to boil the kettle. Satisfied, she returns to her bed, draws back the covers and sets the bottle in. Turns the main light out, and sits herself on the edge of the mattress, before easing her legs in under the sheets. They feel blissfully smooth. A small moan of contentment escapes her, as she reaches for her bedtime reading: she's halfway through _Middlemarch_ for the second time. But a couple of pages are all she manages tonight; not even Dorothea's woes can take Jocelyn's mind off her guest in the room next door. She lays it aside and, settling her pillows down, flicks the bedside light off. Lies down, her eyes doing their best to adjust to the darkness. 

It's not hard to bring Maggie's face to her mind's eye. Ever since the macular degeneration was diagnosed, Jocelyn has honed her visual recall to perfection. The knowledge that one day, all her vision would be lost to that black hole has been enough to make her cast her most loved sights to memory. She can imagine Maggie now, sat up in bed; the pillows plumped against her back, book in hand. Her glasses will be slipping down her nose. She might have her eCig in hand. In a few minutes, she'll take her specs off, and put all three things on the shelf above her. She'll turn the light out, and snuggle down in the covers. Does she sleep on one pillow or two? Jocelyn doesn't know, and the thought bothers her. 

Lying on her side, Jocelyn can almost picture Maggie in the space opposite her, facing in. Can envision how she would stroke a finger down Maggie's cheek; curl her hand around her neck. Perhaps she would lean in, in the darkness, her nose bumping Maggie's, until lips found lips. How she would slip her arms under the covers, rest a hand on Maggie's side, her waist, her thigh. Then she might pull Maggie gently towards her, canting her hips in until they met, pressed hard together. The imagined warmth of Maggie's body against hers is near tangible, and Jocelyn smiles in the dark. 

For so many years, work had been her passion, and Jocelyn had, for the most part, ignored any other desires, channelling them into energy for a case. Occasionally, that intensity would have broken out; once after a long, heated trial, she and the defending QC had ended up in a hotel room for a night, before agreeing that it was best left there. They were both highly acclaimed barristers, hugely successful women with their own chambers. It wouldn't do to have rumours circulating about either of them. And anyway, Jocelyn didn't love her. They were just well matched for sex. There had been other such encounters, sometimes with lawyers, sometimes with general acquaintances, but they had been few and far between, and with no emotions attached. Then Maggie had come on the scene. 

Jocelyn had felt her heartbeat hasten the first moment she saw Maggie, before she even knew that this was the same woman her mother had talked fondly of. She had never really thought about herself in terms of sexuality: as sexual, yes, but not in terms of orientation. Until Maggie. From that first meeting, she had subconsciously known, and if her commuting back home became more regular after that, well, Jocelyn had told herself it was because she wanted to keep an eye on her mum's failing health. It certainly had nothing to do with the blonde journalist who could regularly be found visiting the house on Clifftop Way. Nothing at all to do with the way Maggie looked in a swimsuit that hot summer; Veronica Knight having invited her new friend to use the pool any time she liked. Everything had been perfect. For the first time since her father's death, Jocelyn had found someone in Broadchurch who she could talk to about anything. No matter the subject, Maggie had an opinion. Together they would pull apart literature, law, journalism, music, politics and generally set the world to rights. They didn't always agree, but enjoyed the heated yet respectful debates. Those summer evenings spent in and around the garden, or out walking on the beach, remain some of the happiest of Jocelyn's memories. Being with Maggie had felt like the most natural sensation in the world. And then Jocelyn had realised. 

It had been a hot day in the Old Bailey, the temperatures in London had reached over thirty degrees. It was humid and sticky, especially under her wig. Hard enough to keep focus at the best of times. During the middle of her impassioned closing speech, all Jocelyn could see in her mind's eye was Maggie, the night before, smiling in the evening sun, sitting beside the pool. 

_Her feet were dangling in the water; languidly splashing Jocelyn, who stood before her, looking up. She could have kissed Maggie in that moment. Desperately wanted to. And Maggie's legs had stopped moving; her eyes, half covered by a messy fringe, were cast down on Jocelyn's face; she seemed to almost stop breathing. The sun had fallen a little lower, casting Maggie's hair into a reddish tinge. The light breeze seemed to die away for a moment, as Jocelyn had taken Maggie's foot in her hand, stroking her ankle bone; moved closer. And then her mum had come out of the French windows, with a tray of homemade lemonade; had called out something, Jocelyn couldn't remember what. The opportunity passed._

Jocelyn had lost her focus. She slipped up on a couple of words. The speech, though good, did not sparkle. The Jury didn't respond well. Two days later, the verdict came back as Not Guilty. The sisters of the murdered woman were in bits as the man who raped and mutilated her walked free, and Jocelyn felt appalled at herself. She had let her personal emotions invade her workspace, and a murderer had walked free because of that. She swore to never again let her feelings jeopardise a trial, even if that meant cutting off the cause. Not that she had been able to completely split herself from Maggie: Jocelyn had too much invested in the friendship for that. But the long evenings spent by the pool were banished; she found good reasons to stay in London on hot summer days, and brought enough work home to limit their time spent together. 'Maggie, I'm working' became an all too often used refrain, until her friend could recite it back at her. Sometime later, Maggie had introduced her to Kate, a Doctor working in Wessex General. She seemed happy, and Jocelyn had pushed her jealousy into a small mental box and hidden it away. Had been able to return Maggie's friendship more easily, knowing she was out of bounds romantically. 

It had only been during her self-imposed period of isolation that Jocelyn had let herself realise that it was not her speech that had caused the Jury's verdict. She had revisited the evidence in her mind, critically. Had opened herself to the concept that the case had not been as strong as she might have liked it to be. Had accepted that the verdict was not her fault. But it was too late to set right the consequences now.

The image of Maggie in her bathing suit lingers in her mind. Her figure hasn't changed much over the years, and the sight of her still makes Jocelyn's tummy flutter, even though she's always fully dressed. She's learnt to cover it by smiling; doesn't want Maggie to know that, after all these years, she's still turned on by her, still in love with her. Jocelyn knows she probably shouldn't bring her to mind at times like this, when the darkness closes in around her, and she longs for the alternate universe in which she had been brave enough, and self aware enough to act on her feelings. But she does, and she has long since quashed the sense of guilt it used to give her. Her hand slips down to her tummy, and lower, 'til it rests above her heat, one finger pressing down through the thin material of her nightie. She doubts Maggie ever thinks of her like this, but even the possibility that she does sends waves of desire through her; the possibility that, even right now, in the next room, Maggie might be… But she's being ridiculous. 

Jocelyn can sense the moistness between her legs now, and puts all thoughts of propriety out of her head. Hitches her nightdress up so she can feel herself. A sigh escapes her as she dips her finger in, moving swiftly to the tender nub. For a moment, she imagines what it would be like if it were Maggie's hand, not her own, touching her. The thought makes her pulse race, and she moans quietly. It doesn't take long to bring herself to the peak of her longing; images of Maggie, past and present, float in front of her mind's eye. Then she comes, shuddering under her fingers, her heart beating wildly. As she falls back into the soft pillows, Jocelyn fancies she hears a groan; but whether it is her own, or coming from the spare room, she doesn't know. It's probably her imagination. Lying back, she closes her eyes again, her heart rate becoming more measured. The pillow is soft and cool against her cheek, and Jocelyn shifts until she is comfortable. Remembers Maggie's smile over dinner; her fond glances, her gentle touch. These little things keep Jocelyn's heart aglow. Slowly, she begins to drift into sleep. 

***

Jocelyn wakes for the umpteeth time at four thirty in the morning. For all her weariness by the end of last night, she has not slept well; the trial looms in her mind, suffusing her dreams with an anxiety she wishes she didn't feel. This time, she doesn't bother to turn over, sitting up instead. It will be better use of her time, she decides, to get a cup of tea, some breakfast, and listen to those files Ben finished off recording yesterday. With care, she pulls herself out of bed, into her slippers. Pads across the room, picks up the blouse and skirt; grabs some underwear from the drawer and moves to the en-suite. She can have a shower later, when she changes into her work suit, but for now a quick wash suffices. Ten minutes later she heads downstairs, avoiding the creaks in the old floorboards as best she can. A lifetime of experience has told her that this is more worthwhile than tiptoeing, when trying to make sure the rest of the household doesn't hear one's movements. 

In the kitchen, Jocelyn puts the kettle on to boil, and the porridge to cook. Sets the teapot ready. She's in the process of pouring her tea when Maggie's voice interrupts and makes her jump.

"You're up early." She's leaning against the door frame, dressed but hair still sleep tousled and her cardigan loose around her shoulders. 

"Couldn't sleep." Jocelyn replies. "Hope I didn't wake you?" She can hear the concern in her voice. "I did try to be quiet." 

Maggie smiles, soft and reassuring. "I wasn't asleep either." Flicks her fringe back off her forehead. "Thinking about the trial...and you keep this house far too hot." She moves into the kitchen. "Is there enough in that for two?"

"Yes, but I've coffee if you'd prefer?"

"Angel." Maggie grins, and begins to yawn. "I think I need industrial strength caffeine at this rate."

"Go have your smoke, I'll bring it out." Jocelyn nods towards the conservatory. As Maggie passes her, she extends a hand to lightly brush Jocelyn's arm. 

"Thanks petal." She makes her way through, not bothering to turn the light on. 

By the time Jocelyn has made a pot of strong coffee, and refilled her own tea, the light is beginning to break in the east. Maggie sits in the same wicker chair as last night, legs crossed and eCig in hand. 

"You. Are a gem." She says, as Jocelyn hands her the mug. "A precious, precious gem."

"There's porridge when you're ready for it." Jocelyn lowers herself into the other armchair, and watches Maggie as she puts the eCig down and cups both hands around her coffee. Eyes closed, she breathes in the rising vapour and takes a sip.

"Perfect. As usual." Maggie glances across at Jocelyn and grins. 

"Well I know you'll be unbearable if you don't get a decent cup to start with." Jocelyn rejoins, her lips twitching. Maggie doesn't rise to the bait, instead staring out at the slowly changing light. "It's beautiful." She murmurs. 

"Yes. It is." Jocelyn gazes at Maggie, thoughtful. "If we have breakfast now, we'd be just in time to watch the sunrise from the bench on the cliff. I do that quite a bit when I can't sleep. Would you like to?"

"That'd be lovely." Maggie agrees. "I was thinking, on our way to Court, would you mind if we stopped at mine briefly? I'd rather put something clean on than wear this again. The heat in that courtroom is something else. I don't know how you cope under all your garments."

"Yes, we can do that." Jocelyn assents as she stands up again. "It's not that bad in there. Not half as bad as the Old Bailey could get." She smiles knowingly. "As you should well remember."

Maggie laughs. "That was a long time ago now. Feels like a different life."

"Do you miss it? Being on Fleet Street?" Jocelyn leads the way through to the kitchen, indicates the small breakfast bar by the window. "Sit. I'll get the porridge." She busies herself dishing up, and making sure they're supplied with ample milk and sugar. 

"Not really. It was a different pace of life, a whole other ballgame in terms of work. And I certainly don't miss the hustle and bustle of London. No one ever looks you in the eye, everyone is running from meeting to work to drinks with people they don't really like. So impersonal. You?"

"Hmm?" Jocelyn is in the middle of brewing up a new pot of tea.

"Do you miss it? London?"

"Oh, utterly. I hadn't realised just how much until...this." Jocelyn pauses as she puts Maggie's breakfast in front of her. "I love being back here, being by the sea again, being able to go walking or fishing whenever I feel like it. But there was something beautiful about London. A...freedom. Privacy, even."

Maggie shakes her head, then smiles up at Jocelyn as she moves to sit down beside her, bowl in hand. They make quick and silent work of the porridge, and ten minutes later are donning coats against the cool morning air. 

"I'm going to bring those audio files. I want to get a good listen to them before we continue today... Presuming we are continuing, that is." Jocelyn tries to keep the uncertainty she feels out of her voice. "Do you want to bring a book?" She watches Maggie dragging a hairbrush through her unruly mop. 

Maggie casts around the sitting room. "Didn't I see yesterday's Guardian lying somewhere? I'll take that if you don't mind?"

"I'll get it." Jocelyn disappears into the dining room, and comes back a minute later with the paper, her iPad and earphones. 

"Thanks petal." Maggie takes them from her. 

"All sorted?" Jocelyn locks up behind them and puts the keys in her pocket. They're only going across the path, she probably doesn't even need to lock up at all, but better safe than sorry. Down the garden she follows Maggie, admiring the cut of her from behind; smiling as she stops to rub her fingers through the lavender bush. Maggie holds the gate for Jocelyn, her grin reaching her eyes. 

"Just in time." She nods to the sun peaking above the horizon line beyond the cliffs. "Just look at that. Glorious." Maggie sits herself on the bench, and Jocelyn follows suit, eyes now fixed on the sunrise. The golden light makes the reddish cliffs more vibrant than ever, a contrast to the deep green of the far out sea. Below them, the tide rolls in, flecked with small white horses. Given the choice, she wouldn't be anywhere but here.

Maggie hands her the technology, and lays the paper on her knees. Jocelyn unrolls her headphones and plugs them into the iPad, but before putting them on, glances once again at Maggie, who has returned to being absorbed in the view.

"We met on this bench, do you remember?" The fact might have something to do with why Jocelyn suggested it this morning. 

"How could I forget? I was walking up to visit your mum, and I wanted to have a smoke before I went in. My lighter had broken and I asked you if you had one. You were very snappy, as I recall."

"Well, you _were_ interrupting my peace and quiet."

"Oh yes, I forgot!" Maggie scoffs. "You acted like this was your personal bench, and anyone stepping into the space was an intruder." She laughs. 

Just like the laugh she gave when Jocelyn had snapped back 'don't you have your own?', all those years ago. 

"Then you produced one, from somewhere about yourself, and told me to keep it, like you were dismissing me." Maggie smirks at the memory.

"So of course, you sat down. Taking a hint never was your strong point, was it?" 

"Not in the slightest." Maggie laughs, as she pulls out her eCig. "Anyway, _I_ had the advantage of knowing who you were. And I had no intention of being told to go away from such a beautiful view."

"I should have learnt then that you're the most stubborn person I'd ever meet." Jocelyn observes.

"Asides from yourself, you mean?" Maggie fires back, just as quick. Jocelyn opens her mouth to retaliate, then closes it again, as Maggie adds. "Nothing's changed, really. You're as much of a stubborn old mule as you always were, I still don't take no for an answer, and the view's as lovely as ever." She glances over at Jocelyn, eyes half covered by her fringe, hard to read. "But at least this time you invited me to join you." She smirks again, and opens the paper. Jocelyn nods, uncertain if Maggie is signifying the conversation as finished. When nothing more is said, she puts the earphones on and selects the appropriate file. 

They sit in silence like this for twenty minutes. It's cool; even with her coat on, Jocelyn feels a nip in the air that will surely pass as the sun gets higher. To her right, the clouds are illuminated by the rising sun; to her left, Maggie studies the paper, shaking her head occasionally with something she disagrees with. Jocelyn finds herself watching Maggie, rather than the sunrise beyond her. She seems engrossed in her reading, sometimes lifting her head to stare out into the middle distance, as if considering what she's just seen. While Ben's voice sounds quietly in her ear, Jocelyn doesn't really hear him at all; instead her focus is on Maggie's cheek, the way her eyelashes sit when she's looking down, the way she she sighs at the articles. For once, her vision is behaving, and Jocelyn can see everything clearly; the small lines round Maggie's mouth and eyes that have developed over the years, the blush in her lips, the tilt of her nose. There isn't a sight she'd rather see, including the beautiful seascape before them. 

It hits Jocelyn like the moment the sun's rays first touch the land. She's going to tell her. 

_She is going to tell Maggie_. 

She is going to put things right, no matter the cost. She can do this. Underneath her concern for the case, her compassion for Beth Latimer, and for all the people who had so much to say to Danny, but never did, Jocelyn feels a new sensation. A comfortable one. She is going to fix things, and maybe it won't be as hard as she has told herself it would be, over the years. Jocelyn gives herself a mental shake. She will tell Maggie. But not just yet. Best to get the closing speech out of the way first.


	2. What to do with that now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of the picnic scene, on through the night...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suppose I should note that this really does deserve the explicit rating - you have been warned!
> 
> Once again, many thanks to GirlOnABridge for cheerleading, and thrashing headcanon out with me; and to featherxquill for beta-ing! 
> 
> Aubry - hope you enjoy this part just as much!

"No, I don't think it has." Jocelyn gazes steadily at her, eyes warm and cheeks just a little flushed. For a moment everything is still, bar the grass rippling in the breeze and the waves breaking on the shore below. Then, slowly, her hand reaches up to cup Maggie's jaw.

Her instinctive response, the one that comes from a place of responsibility, of knowing that she is the one who has emotional clarity at this juncture, is to draw away. Just as she made Jocelyn say it - partly, yes, to hear those words, that admission - but mostly so that no one could accuse her of taking advantage of the situation. She needs to be sure that this really is what Jocelyn wants; rather than what her grieving friend thinks she needs as succour to the pain of loss and the fear of failure. Because while Maggie will always, _always_ be there for Jocelyn, she is not going to put a crack in this relationship for the sake of a transitory experience. 

In those few seconds the movement of Jocelyn's hand grows steadier, firmer, surer. The tips of her fingers trace the soft skin behind Maggie's ear and she cannot help but fall into the caress. Still, she does not break eye contact; rather, continues to watch as Jocelyn draws nearer; etching every line of that face as it is now, into her memory. Those clear eyes, deep as the sea behind her and focused on her with intent; the lips, already parted in expectation. This is another moment, like the one fifteen years ago, that she will never forget.

If Jocelyn Knight has been in love with her ever since she came to this town, it's only a mirror of how Maggie has felt for her. And while she long ago gave up expectation, or even hope, of ever hearing those words come out of that mouth, that doesn't stop them ringing now, over and over in her mind, as clear as St Bede's bells pealing. When she can hold herself back no longer, Maggie leans in the remaining inch or two to meet Jocelyn's soft and open kiss.

As her eyes close, some tension inside her breaks and flows away; the fear in her heart that this is only the effects of bereavement speaking with Jocelyn's mouth, perhaps. She recognises the familiar sensation of triumph that she normally gets on penning a perfect headline - a story broken open on the page and yet inviting the reader into something so much more. _Captured_. If there was any hesitation as Maggie's lips met Jocelyn's, it is swept out now, gone with the tide and the dipping sun. She moves further into the kiss, feels Jocelyn pushing back, intense and purposeful. Maggie's hand reaches out, desperate to find physically tangible proof that this is not some wine-soaked delusion. A heady rush overtakes her. This is actually happening.

She could touch Jocelyn now. Maggie knows; she could touch her and never stop. Her fingers would make contact with Jocelyn's jaw, tracing it up to the delicate earlobe, and down then - down her neck, brushing along her shoulder, following a natural course to that beautifully tapered waist. But it could _never_ be enough. Although coherent thought formation has left her, Maggie understands that simple fact. Once she starts touching Jocelyn all bets are off. She cannot be held responsible for her actions. And she can see the headlines now: "local newspaper editor caught in public lesbian sex act with celebrated QC!" Oliver would probably 'live blog' the story, unapologetically declaring it to be of public interest. No, she couldn't have that. But her hand nearly has a mind of its own, fingers flexing with desire to just once feel Jocelyn's skin flutter under her touch, in case this moment too should pass.

It is the lack of golden light infusing through Maggie's eyelids that breaks the spell, or perhaps the shiver - from pleasure or cold, she'll never know - through the hand on her cheek. Slowly, before their lips part, she opens her eyes just in time to catch a glimpse of wonder aglow on Jocelyn's face. Maggie draws back a few inches, meeting her gaze. If the wonder startled her, it is nothing to the expression she reads now: one of pure hunger. Not, or at least, not entirely, a sexual hunger. It is an appetite of desire, and an overwhelming sense that Jocelyn is memorising every line, every wrinkle, every wisp of hair out of place - just as she herself had done minutes before. 

There are so many things she wants to say, to ask, to know. But instead Maggie reaches up to Jocelyn's hand, still caressing her head, and gently pulls it down, into her own. 

"You're cold."

Not looking away, Jocelyn twitches her head and shoulders, an indication of unconcerned agreement.

"A little." She smiles knowingly. "But warmer than I was." She continues to gaze at Maggie, head tilted and eyes feeding on the sight. _Committing me to memory,_ she realises with a jolt. It has never felt right to ask Jocelyn how her vision has changed; whether that little black hole has stolen the light from Maggie's eyes, or the warmth of her smile. She rubs the slender hand between her own, before placing it on her knee so she can reach for their wine. 

"Drink up. We should be getting back."

Jocelyn accepts the proffered glass, but continues to consider Maggie's features till she almost wants to ask 'what are you looking for?' She's startled, then, when Jocelyn murmurs,

"What's the rush? Besides, there's something I want you to see."

"Oh?"

"Turn round. Come and sit by me."

Cautious, Maggie moves herself round till she is within a hairs breadth of Jocelyn, their shoulders almost touching. The hand that props her up rests snugly beside Jocelyn's. Maggie glances across, and sees that she is no longer the focus of her friend's gaze. Instead, Jocelyn is facing into the dying sun, it's last rays edging above the horizon. 

"Look." She says. And Maggie does, following Jocelyn's movement as first she takes in the glowing red and orange of the sun; then the yellow hues streaking across the low sky, mirrored in the sea. Further up, then, where the sky is almost green, merging seamlessly into a turquoise as clear as Jocelyn's eyes. Then up again, into a deeper hue, nearly indigo, where the first stars of the night are twinkling. By the time she looks back down, the sun has fallen beneath the sea, and the colours are darkening, swallowing up the crystal tones. It is only when Maggie sighs for the pure beauty of it that she realises Jocelyn has slipped her arm around her shoulders. 

"I never realised, until... All the colours of a night sky. Dawn, too. These last few years have made me appreciate the skies around Broadchurch all the more. Taught me to treasure what is, and acknowledge it." The words are softly spoken, but Maggie catches every word, and nods, a strange lump in her throat. She senses, rather than sees, that Jocelyn has turned back to her; is once more watching her every response - the trained observer, looking for a weak spot in her witness. She takes another sip of wine, swirls the remains in her glass, then drinks that too, remembering another time that Jocelyn had looked at her in that way.

It had been the hottest day of the year; the beach at Broadchurch heaved with young families and sunbathing couples. Maggie had been delighted when she received a call from Veronica to say that Jocelyn would be home later, and would she like to come up and use the pool to cool off after work? The sun-soaked water was inviting in itself, but the real lure for Maggie had been the knowledge that Jocelyn would be there. In the preceding months, they had spent many free moments together, and Maggie couldn't remember the last time she felt so at ease with someone. She fancied Jocelyn felt similarly; recognising the heartbeats hesitation before she spoke, the way her pupils dilated when she looked at Maggie, the long drawn out silences rich with suggestion. Now she was waiting; hoping, even willing, that the moment might come when... 

_She was sitting by the edge of the pool, dangling her legs in the water, feeling suitably at ease with the world, when Jocelyn had sauntered down the garden path, and swallow-dived into the pool. The sight of her, bare but for her claret, high-cut swimming costume left Maggie near speechless. She felt her chest constrict, her tummy tighten, her heart race. Jocelyn had surfaced, wiping the excess water away from her face and hair, and had come to stand in front of her, eyes seemingly taking in every tiny detail of what she saw. As if they had a mind of their own, Maggie's legs had continued to move, swirling the water around Jocelyn's hips. Until, gently, Jocelyn had taken a hold of one foot, the right one, and stroked the skin, moving up to her ankle bone. Maggie's lips had parted, her lungs felt like they ceased to function, and for just one moment, she had believed that Jocelyn was going to lean up and kiss her. In that heartbeat, Maggie knew with certainty the thought that had been growing in her from the day she met Jocelyn; that she had found the rest of her life. Then Veronica had come out on to the patio, calling out a cheery greeting, and Jocelyn, as if stung, had moved backwards, her hands dropping away._

The opportunity was over, but Maggie had not lost her belief in Jocelyn; nor her own feelings. At first she thought she was imagining things, when Jocelyn didn't come down the next weekend. Then, when at last she did arrive, laden with paperwork, Maggie had rationalised it in her mind. She's busy. When she gets this case done, she'll relax, and then... But when, for the umpteeth time, she heard her friend rebuff her with 'Maggie, I'm working', she had realised. Jocelyn's fear had overcome her. Maggie could understand it. She didn't like it, but she could see why it was. She had squared her shoulders, and taught herself to stop looking at her friend as the woman she was in love with. Soon enough she had met Kate at a networking event, and had relished being in a relationship with someone who wasn't afraid, even if she wasn't everything that Jocelyn was. But for all that, Maggie couldn't give up on her friend. Jocelyn was too much a part of her. It took time, but eventually, she had been able to spend the evening at the Knight's again without unbearable heartache. And each time she had split up with a partner, she made sure Jocelyn knew, _just in case._

"You're right." Maggie glances sideways at Jocelyn, who barks a laugh; a strange sound after such quiet, rich against the silence.

"Well of course I am. But about what, specifically?" 

Maggie pauses. "The moment hadn't passed." She turns to look Jocelyn in the eye and finds her feeling of wariness gone. "Thank you." Jocelyn twinkles, and Maggie cannot help but grin. "Now who's looking smug?" Before she totally knows what she's doing, her left hand has moved up to stroke Jocelyn's cheek. Beneath her touch the skin is soft and cool. She lets her fingers drop to Jocelyn's chin and leans in. This time, their kiss is deeper, more searching, and Maggie can feel a force welling up within her again; that tide of uncontrollable passion that threatens to overspill. She breaks it off, breath coming heavy, audible above the breeze. 

"I really think it _is_ time we turned back, you know." 

Jocelyn nods, glowing. 

"How about we finish this bottle back at mine?" It's a simple invitation, one she's given many times before - but now Jocelyn's voice has a deeper inflection, a suggestiveness that makes Maggie feel breathless and lightheaded all at the same time. She doesn't trust herself to speak, simply nodding in acceptance. 

Jocelyn is the first to move, dropping her hand from Maggie's shoulder, delicately trailing a finger down her back, before shifting up on to her knees. She is quick and precise in the way she repacks the hamper, her actions belying the difficulty Maggie knows she must have in seeing what she's doing. Once the remains of the meal are packed away and the bottle safely stowed, Maggie rolls up the rug and slips the bundle through the handle of the hamper. She looks over at the barbeque.

"I'll take that," she says, in a tone that brooks no argument. She looks round for her coat, which Jocelyn holds out for her, before picking up the hamper. "All sorted?" She casts a quick glance across their picnic space. Nothing left behind, no trace of their having been here, but for the flattened grass. 

At first, Maggie lets Jocelyn take the lead, walking steadily back to the clifftop path in the half light. Her eyes, accustomed now to the dusk, quickly spot that her friend's gait is uncertain, not as swift and sure as normal. Comprehending, she hitches the barbeque onto her hip, catches up the pace or two between them, and links her free arm in with Jocelyn's. 

"So tell me, what changed?" It's the first question she thinks of, speaking before Jocelyn has a chance to rebuke her for her consideration. Her fierce independence has only grown stronger since the diagnosis, some three years ago. 

"What do you mean?" Jocelyn doesn't look at her, eyes focussed on the path in front, apparently unaware of Maggie's concern.

"Why now? What changed to make you say it now and not before?" She's genuinely curious. If it isn't grief that has emboldened Jocelyn, Maggie wants to know what, or who it is, so she can thank her lucky stars for this change of direction. She's already grateful, in an uncomfortable, awkward kind of way, for the turn of events that led her friend back into the world. Not for Danny's death, or for the pain that it has caused the town. Not even for Joe Miller's about-turn on his plea - she would never have wished that on Beth and Mark. But for the universe seeming to take her side, in forcing a halt on Jocelyn's self inflicted eremitical ways. If that means being thankful for that brazen QC acting for the Defence, well so be it. Maggie is thankful. 

"A few things." Jocelyn pauses in her speech, catching her breath. "Someone said something to me the other week, about 'making things right', and it got me thinking. I've known I made the mistake of not telling you before, from the moment I didn't say it. But the idea of setting it right always seemed so huge... a wall so unassailable. Yet here is a town wallowing in regret for things not said, not done, not noticed - and because poor Danny Latimer is dead, none of it can be put right. And, although I had already decided to say it to you, it took my mum dying for me to realise..."

"...that you're not." Maggie finishes Jocelyn's sentence with her, nodding in comprehension. 

"Yes. Suddenly it seemed to me to be so simple. This fear I had of being true to myself, true to the way you make me feel...wasn't actually the wall I thought it was. You've brought me back into the world, Maggie, and if you could do something I thought was impossible, well... It opened my eyes. That's all." 

"I see." Maggie nods, casting a sharp glance across at Jocelyn. 

"There's that, too." Jocelyn gives a quiet, derisive snort. "If telling you seemed so difficult now, the idea of putting words to it in the future, when... Well, it was unthinkable. I could either tell you now, or fade back into my fear and never know."

They're almost at her gate, now, and Jocelyn stops. "Do you forgive me?"

"For what?" Maggie thinks she knows what the plea is for, but her instinct is to always be certain.

"For not saying it before...for not being strong?" Jocelyn's limpid eyes search her face, as if she would be able to see any visual clue that would give lie to Maggie's answer. 

"You fool," is all she replies, at first, before unhooking her arm, shifting the barbeque on her hip and moving her free hand to Jocelyn's shoulder. 

"I need to know, Maggie." Quiet but determined. Stubborn, even.

"Of course I do." She forbears to say that she would forgive Jocelyn just about anything, so long as the result was the same as it was now; that delighted smile that lights her eyes from within. Best not letting the UK's most talented criminal prosecution Barrister know that she could get away with murder, or at least all that she has done for nearly the last two decades, and still be met with love and support from Maggie. Jocelyn nods and lifts the latch on the gate. 

"Come on then." She leads the way, her step assured now that she is on home territory, up to the French windows. The key is where it always is. 

"You didn't move it after all." Maggie cannot help but grin. "All bark and no bite, that's what you are." 

Jocelyn turns on her heel, door half pushed back, and tips Maggie an outrageous wink.

"We'll see about that." Once again, her tone is inflected with suggestion, and Maggie takes a deep breath to steady the rising heat within her. "Do come in, not that you need inviting!" 

Maggie sets down the barbeque outside, steps in and turns to pull the sliding door shut. Below, the guiding lights of the harbour glimmer red and green, reflecting on the calm surface of the sea within. Broadchurch looks peaceful at night; the lie of still waters running deep. She sighs and shakes her head before turning to follow Jocelyn through towards the kitchen, dropping her coat on the handiest chair. The chess board catches her eye.

"You could move your knight to take the bishop next turn." 

"Hmm?" Jocelyn appears at the kitchen door, leaning on the frame. 

"I said you could move your knight, your queen's knight, to take the bishop in your next move," Maggie repeats, pointing out the move.

"Yes... I could. But it would leave my queen open to both the bishop and that rook." Jocelyn looks slyly at her. "You never were a strategist, Maggie, best give it up now." 

"I prefer people puzzles, you know that. Better at them than you are, too. Who're you playing with, anyway?"

"No one. I was doing the _Spectator_ Chess puzzle. You know the one. I like to..." She pauses, faltering, then continues with an honesty that is as beguiling as it is vulnerable. "It's easier to see the bigger picture if they're laid out on the board." 

Maggie nods. "Their _'Competition'_ is more up my street. More nuanced. Chess is so, well... black and white."

"Naturally. But a good player is subtle, not always going for the obvious move. Let the other player be drawn into complacency, then snap, you have them." Jocelyn's eyes gleam as she leaves the door frame to click her fingers under Maggie's nose with a predatory grin. "If I -" she picks up the king's rook "- move him there, in two moves I'll not only have the bishop, but I'll have them in check as well." She flourishes the taken piece with an elegance that sets Maggie's pulse racing. "And then, checkmate!" 

"I hope it plays out the way you think." Maggie raises an eyebrow to Jocelyn, removing the piece from her hand and placing it at the side of the board. "How about that wine?" She takes the lead into the kitchen, making straight for the glassware cupboard. Jocelyn comes in behind her and starts unpacking the contents of the hamper into the sink. "That was a delicious meal, petal. Beats my carbonara into the ground."

"Never!" Jocelyn twirls round with the wine, to fill the glasses Maggie holds out. "Although, I may have taken a lesson in using food to corner someone..." She laughs, a rich, deep sound that fills the room. "We'll leave that for now," she indicates the sinkful of dishes, and, taking her wine from Maggie, saunters back into the sitting room, gesturing to the sofa. As Maggie lowers herself to sit, Jocelyn picks up a remote and languidly flicks it at the sound system. Quietly, a string quartet begins to play. 

"Hmmm..." Maggie racks her mind; her knowledge of classical music limited to what she listens to in this house. "Boccherini?"

"La Musica Noturna delle strade di Madrid." Jocelyn confirms, the words tripping off her tongue with ease. She seats herself, not on her easy chair, or even at the other end of the sofa as she normally would, but in the middle of the sofa; legs crossed towards Maggie so that their feet almost touch. The pose pulls her body to mirror Maggie's, and Jocelyn rests her head on her arm to face her. Her spare hand toys with the glass as she seems to consider something. Maggie waits. After a couple of minutes, Jocelyn asks. "Would you read to me?" 

The question is a frequent one, and if Maggie didn't know Jocelyn so well, she'd be half inclined to accuse her of being self-absorbed. But she can see a strategy at play in her friend's eyes and accepts the invitation.

"Not the trial though?"

"No. I think we'll leave that outside tonight. If you can bear a real book, that is?" Jocelyn's glance is teasing. She reaches to the bookshelf behind her and produces a well-thumbed paperback with a bookmark placed more than two thirds of the way through. _"Orlando_." She says, by way of explanation. Maggie looks at her sharply.

"A bit out of your normal style, that? I was expecting a Brontë, or maybe something Russian."

Jocelyn laughs again, and not for the first time, Maggie feels her heart ease. Medical folk could market that laugh as stress relief. She leans her head on her hand and gazes over at Jocelyn; at the way those curls sweep the fine line of her neck, the way the smile on her lips echoes in her eyes.

"Perhaps I have depths you know not what of." Jocelyn breaks Maggie's reverie, and, having opened it to the page, hands the book over with a flick of her wrist. "You know it?"

"Of course." Maggie glances down at the novel. "Which is a good thing, as starting off at this point would confuse the hell out of me if I didn't." She looks back up with a twinkle. "Ready?"

Jocelyn nods, and Maggie begins to read, eyes flickering from page to listener.

"' _Shel, my darling,' she began again, 'tell me...' and so they talked two hours or more, perhaps about Cape Horn, perhaps not, and really it would profit little to write down what they said, for they knew each other so well that they could say anything, which is tantamount to saying nothing, or saying such stupid, prosy things as how to cook an omelette, or where to buy the best boots in London, things which have no lustre taken from their setting, yet are positively of amazing beauty within it. For it has come about, by the wise economy of nature, that our modern spirit can almost dispense with language; the commonest expressions do, since no expressions do; hence the most ordinary conversation is often the most poetic, and the most poetic is precisely that which cannot be written down..."_ The words flow from her tongue, used as she is, by now, to reading for Jocelyn, and yet it strikes Maggie that they are strangely prescient. When she glances up at her companion, she notes Jocelyn's gaze is fixed intently upon her; not the usual lidded eyes, head thrown back. She seems to watch the way Maggie's mouth fits around the words, thrilling at both the prose and its delivery. The realisation is exhilarating for Maggie, and she reads on with a quiet relish.

When the story turns to Orlando's lawsuits, Maggie cannot help but grin over at Jocelyn, who returns the unspoken comment with a wink. And when Shelmerdine tells of Cape Horn with snail shells and leaves, Maggie knows that Jocelyn, like Orlando, sees ' _the phosphorescence on the waves; the icicles clanking on the shrouds.'_ So she goes on reading; understanding, from Jocelyn's expression as she listens, an undercurrent to the story; to their own story. At times, those sea blue eyes are as distant as Orlando herself, and then they come dreamily back to the dark wood sitting room.

With the colours of the music, rising in crescendo, Maggie almost feels the movement of the ship breaking through; ' _heaving and tossing a little dreamily, rather as if she had a whole year of summer days to make her voyage in; and so the ship bears down, heaving this way, heaving that way, nobly, indolently...'_ and as Orlando drops beside Shelmerdine, Jocelyn's hand lands upon Maggie's knee, soft and all of a piece, as sails upon the deck. She pauses and looks up expectantly. Jocelyn gazes at her the way she did earlier, composing herself.

"Come to bed with me." 

The invitation is quiet, but Maggie hears every word in enticing clarity. The way she feels about Jocelyn hasn't changed in fifteen years, but this evening has let that fully out of the cage she's kept it in for so long. She is stunned with the realisation that, for the first time, she can experience that emotion without the searing ache of futility that previously accompanied it. More, the suggestion seals in her mind the knowledge that Jocelyn is entirely serious in all that she has said. Maggie has known her friend long enough to know that, for her, action stems from conscious and aware determination. She sets _Orlando_ down between them and places her hand over Jocelyn's, rubbing the soft skin with her index finger. Without dropping her eyes, she nods, echoing the smile she sees in Jocelyn's face.

"I'd like that." Maggie finishes the last of her wine, setting the glass down on the side table. She lifts her hand to stroke Jocelyn's cheek, thrilling with the newness of being able to act on the yearning to touch. She lets her hand fall to Jocelyn's shoulder, resting it lightly on the cashmere jumper she's wearing. Maggie can feel her collar bone underneath the layers of material, and she traces her thumb inwards, towards the nook of her clavicle. Jocelyn stretches her arm out behind her to deposit her own glass, half-drunk, before taking Maggie's hand in hers, lifting it to her lips and pressing a kiss on to her knuckles. Her eyes never leave Maggie's face. Jocelyn uncurls her long legs to stand up, and Maggie has to pause, to regain control over the butterfly tremors in her stomach at the sight. Deep within, a heat is rising in her that she hasn't let herself feel in a long time. She's aware of how much all this is turning her on, physically as well as emotionally, and almost wants to draw it out a bit further still. But Jocelyn gives a teasing tug to her wrist, and Maggie staggers upright, laughing, into waiting arms.

"What's so funny?" Jocelyn demands, her head dipping to Maggie's.

"You... You don't do anything by halves, do you?" Maggie looks up at her, an overwhelming warmth flooding her body. "I was just wondering if we should draw this out a bit longer... but clearly patience is a virtue you have yet to learn."

"Can _you_ wait?" It's barely a whisper, but Jocelyn's mouth is so close to Maggie's ear that she hears perfectly. The sensation of rising and falling breath on her cheek is too much to bear, and Maggie answers by rubbing her cheek up along Jocelyn's until their lips meet. This time her hands move to Jocelyn's side, pulling her closer in, running her fingers up and down the soft material. One hand reaches up to the back of her neck, pushing the roll neck down a little and stroking the bare skin she finds there. Their tongues move together, this kiss firmer and faster than before. She can feel Jocelyn's hands on her side, on her back, on her neck; her fingers weaving through her hair. Maggie has never relished someone's hands in her hair as much as she does at this moment. She moans into the kiss, and nearly gasps as Jocelyn's response is to cant her hips forward, pressing their bodies closer together still. Just when Maggie thinks her legs might give way beneath her, Jocelyn breaks the kiss. "I'll take that as a no, hmm?" She leans her forehead on Maggie's momentarily, breath coming low and fast. Then, with a smooth movement, she slides her hand down Maggie's back and along her arm to take her hand. Jocelyn turns, then, and leads the way, back arched just so, her grasp light but sure. At the bottom of the stairs, she turns around, eyes glittering. 

"You're sure about this? I...I don't want to rush you."

Maggie considers her, a smile toying on her lips. "I think fifteen years isn't exactly a rush, don't you?" She closes the distance between them and leans in to whisper in Jocelyn's ear. "Besides, if you don't take me to bed soon, I think I'm going to melt." 

Jocelyn shifts her head back to look down at Maggie. When she speaks, her voice is throaty and low. "We can't have that, can we?" Her spare hand slips down to cup Maggie's hip, and Maggie feels her skin flutter at the touch. She breathes out, the slow, deep flow of air grounding her. This is actually happening. How many other women, she wonders, have had to wait fifteen years from the moment they realised they had found their companion in life, to be taken to bed by her? No wonder she had locked away those feelings; they would have burnt her alive had she entertained them regularly in the intervening time. Some people might consider this rushed, but not Maggie. Not now she is sure of Jocelyn. 

She shakes her head and whispers, "It wouldn't do at all, just think of the headlines!" and watches with delight as Jocelyn chuckles softly. Maggie presses herself forwards then, so that Jocelyn takes a step back, to lean against the wall. She puts both hands on Jocelyn's hips, thumbs stroking the material over her stomach, thrilling at the tremors this causes. She tilts her face towards Jocelyn's and is rewarded with a kiss dropped on to her nose. Then, Jocelyn slides herself out from Maggie's grasp, and taking her hand once more, leads her up the stairs.

Maggie loves this house. She always has. It has an aura of mystery to it, just like its owner. Over the years she has got to explore Jocelyn, sometimes by invitation, other times her intrepid reporter intuition making wild - but usually accurate - forays into her hidden places. Now, Maggie considers herself more familiar than most with the map of Jocelyn's character, but her house is another matter. She has been in the study, at the top of the stairs, once or twice, and of course she knows the spare room quite well, having stayed there occasionally. But Jocelyn's own room is totally unknown, an inner sanctum that might as well have had the words 'strictly private' marked upon the door. 

Ahead of her, Jocelyn places her hand on the door knob, and turns back, and the expression on her face shoots straight to Maggie's heart. The look of warm love is coupled with a burning desire, and just a little trepidation. Jocelyn's pupils are dilated, her breath low and quick, her cheeks flushed; and Maggie knows she herself is a mirror to what she sees. She steps closer. The movement seems to trigger Jocelyn's hand to move, and slowly, the door opens. With her back propping the door open, Jocelyn extends both hands now, to Maggie, and draws her in. In the moment of darkness, as the door falls shut behind her, all that Maggie can see through the French windows is the view of the esplanade, and the lights of the golf course on the opposite hillside. Jocelyn's figure, silhouetted against the nighttime illumination, moves closer, and as Maggie acclimatises to the quarter light, she can see a predatory gleam in her eyes. Jocelyn nudges her backwards with a kiss, and snakes a hand up, over Maggie's shoulder, to turn the lights on. 

If she wasn't so focussed on Jocelyn's lips and what they're doing to her, Maggie would be looking around her, fitting these new pieces of the mosaic that is Jocelyn into place in her mind. But now, as if the closing of the door marked a new boundary crossed, she finds herself held tightly, with Jocelyn's hands moving restlessly over her body, and she cannot help but respond in kind. Maggie sneaks a hand up between the jumper and Jocelyn's soft top, feeling the ridges of her spine underneath her fingers, pulling them tighter together. Underneath the sound of sighing and panting, she feels as much as hears a low groan come from Jocelyn. Their kisses are swift and feather-light now, lips seeking untouched skin to feel and taste. Suddenly, Jocelyn stops, pulls apart. Maggie glances up, a momentary fear that they have gone too far, too fast; she lifts a hand to flick hair out of her eyes, and meets Jocelyn's gaze. 

"What?"

"I...think I'd better close the curtains, don't you?" Jocelyn's breath rasps as she whispers it, and pulls away from Maggie's grasp. Shakily, Maggie nods, more relieved than she could imagine. She watches Jocelyn step across the room, her inimicable gait a little different, challenged, Maggie reckons, by the passion of this encounter. For herself, she is glad of the door to lean on. She's not sure just how long her legs will hold up, weak with desire as they are. 

The pause gives her a chance to take in the room, briefly. There, to her left, is a large old four poster bed, drapes clearly never used, dark carved wood giving a suggestion to its age. Unsurprisingly, it is perfectly made up, with layers of blankets, an eiderdown and smooth white sheets lapping over at the top. Proper linen, Maggie notes with pleasure. Beyond it, a mahogany chest of drawers come dressing table, with various items on it. Then, a door, presumably to an en suite. To her right is a grand wardrobe, deep and wide, flanked on either side by overflowing bookcases. The facing wall is almost entirely window, now covered with dusky pink damask curtains. Outside, she knows, there is a balcony. A small table sits to the side of the window, with a bowl of lilac Hyacinth upon it. The floor is bare boards, covered with an oriental rug vivid in it's rich pink and blue design. It is a place so perfectly in tune with the woman who stands before her; considering her, Maggie realises, in the same way she is exploring the room. Jocelyn takes a few steps back towards her, then holds out her hands, as if in invitation. She stands with that elegant poise that takes the breath from Maggie's lungs, hips thrown out, shoulders back, eyes smouldering. 

Unsteadily, Maggie moves away from the support of the door; the few steps across the room feel like miles across an ocean. Jocelyn receives her hands first, then runs her fingers up Maggie's arms, to the neck of the loose cardigan she wears.

"May I?" She murmurs, and Maggie nods, her whole body shaking. Slowly, Jocelyn smooths the sleeves down over Maggie's wrists, until the garment falls with a whisper to the floor. Jocelyn's fingers come up again, and linger on the patch of chest visible underneath Maggie's blouse. With feather-soft touch, she explores the skin, watching Maggie's reaction. Maggie feels her mouth open in a smile of pleasure, as she moves closer in to Jocelyn, to reach her hands under her jumper again. This time, she catches the edges of the material up in her thumbs, and slowly pulls it upwards. Jocelyn stops her exploration only to aid in getting the top off, and then returns to her task, slowly moving to the nearest fastened button. Before setting her fingers to the task, she quirks an eyebrow at Maggie, an unspoken question. Maggie answers it with a kiss, drawing Jocelyn into her again, closer, deeper. She feels Jocelyn fumble now with the shirt, their proximity making it difficult to manoeuvre. Her own hands drop again, to untuck Jocelyn's top from her jeans. Underneath, she feels a third layer, a silk vest, and smiles into their kiss. When she breaks away to pull the top over Jocelyn's head, admiring how her curls fall smoothly back into place, Maggie gazes into Jocelyn's eyes, grinning.

"What's so funny?" 

"I was just wondering how many layers you wear in winter...and thinking how much fun it would be to get you out of them."

"Hmph! I always knew you had no common sense, Maggie." But Jocelyn's tone is warm, laughing at herself. 

"Don't get me wrong, I like it..." Maggie glances down at the delicate silk long sleeved vest, edged with lace, admiring the way it falls over the shape of Jocelyn's breasts, lightly touching her tummy. "A lot. I just don't understand how you do it."

"Maybe I don't run chasing my tail as much as you..." Jocelyn teases, as she returns her fingers to opening buttons, and then, changing her mind, drops them to pull the shirt off over Maggie's head. She takes a step back, admiring the sight. Maggie can't help but wish she'd put on a fancier bra this morning. Had she known... but then, had she known, it wouldn't have been the same. Instead, she is wearing the same plain white bra she always wears; utilitarian, perhaps, but comfy. Underneath Jocelyn's vest, she fancies she senses the texture of more lace, a side to her friend she has rarely let herself consider. Of course, it was logical that Jocelyn would wear nice underwear; it fits with her personality, Maggie thinks. But still, it's a treat to discover for the first time. She lifts her hands to run her fingers smoothly down Jocelyn's sides, thumbs stretching to trace patterns over her breasts, feeling her heartbeat through the soft material, her body shiver at the touch. 

Maggie leans her head in, rubs her cheek on the silk, breathing in deeply the scent of Jocelyn; a warm smell, familiar, touched with perfume, perhaps Chanel No 5? Her hands reach the hem of the vest, and she steps back to push it up and over Jocelyn's shoulders. Jocelyn finishes the process, casting the garment onto the bed behind her, and turns back to Maggie, who lifts a hand to her bare arms in wonder. They are delicately firm, finely toned. Not what she was expecting; not now, after so long. Whatever else Jocelyn has done in these last three years since her self banishment from the world, she has been keeping in shape. Maggie's own arms are more wrinkled, and she was under the impression she was in good form for her age. Jocelyn has a light tan and an even spread of freckles. Maggie smoothes her fingers down Jocelyn's arm, leaning in to touch her lips to the soft skin. Then she turns her attention to this last layer, Jocelyn's bra. She was right, it is lace, delicately cupping and supporting small but beautifully formed breasts, a flicker of darker skin around the aureoles showing through the cut away pattern. Jocelyn watches her for a moment or so before moving her own hands round to easily unclasp Maggie's bra.

The feel of Jocelyn's fingers, tentative at first and then with growing confidence, stroking across her breasts, makes Maggie murmur incoherently. She dips her head to Jocelyn's bare skin, above her bra, and peppers it with kisses. Pushes the soft fabric down to expose a breast, rubs her thumb gently across, and down to an already tightened nipple. Lowers her lips to lick and suck, pausing only to take in the shuddering moan that escapes Jocelyn in an exhale of breath. With one hand still on Maggie's chest, Jocelyn fiddles with her own bra clasp, urging the underwear off and pressing herself in to Maggie. Then, bending her head down, she nudges Maggie with her nose, until their lips find one another again. And now, when they hold each other tight, hands travelling fast across bare skin, it is just them, firmly held together, breasts against breasts, tummy against tummy, hands desperately searching out new and untouched skin. Maggie raises one hand again to Jocelyn's cheek, and in, behind her ear, combing through her curls in a way she has longed to do for years. She pushes forward a step or two, until Jocelyn is against the bed, her other hand reaching down, now, to the waistline of those incongruous blue jeans. 

Jocelyn half sits on the high bed and lowers her own hands to Maggie's soft jersey trousers. The waistband is elastic, and easily pushed down, catching her knickers with it. As she steps out of them, and flicks them out of the way with her foot, Maggie's breath catches. Suddenly, she feels vulnerable, standing here, completely naked, in front of Jocelyn's searching eyes. What if… But before the thought can even form, Jocelyn is staring at her in wordless delight. Her gaze starts, as always, with Maggie's face, as if even now she cannot see her enough. Then it moves, slowly, this way and that, down. Pauses at her breasts, at the crook of her arm, at her belly button. Under such scrutiny, Maggie's body reacts all of its own accord, her nipples tightening even further, tummy trembling, yearning to be touched again. Onwards, she sees Jocelyn take in her thighs, perhaps the scar on her left leg - can she see that, Maggie wonders? Then, back up the inside of her calves, before coming to rest between her legs. The heat of Jocelyn's expression is enough to stop Maggie feeling cold - not that it would be possible in this room anyway. 

"Come here." The request is intoxicating to Maggie's ears, and she complies, her hands returning to Jocelyn's waist, and the button of the jeans. Jocelyn doesn't make it easy, her fingers running over Maggie's body - as if her visual assessment was only half of the picture, and now her hands would finalise the image in her mind. After a moment or two of fiddling though, Maggie gets the button undone, and slides a hand down to unzip the trousers. Underneath, she feels more silk; delicate knickers fringed with lace that only Jocelyn could wear below jeans. The fabric is warm, possibly even damp with heat and pleasure. Her hand lingers a moment over them, before pushing the jeans down as far as she can. Jocelyn has to stand, unsteadily, for them to fall off. Once this is accomplished, she hitches herself on to the bed properly, and extends a hand.

Maggie almost has to climb on to the bed, and she does so with more fervour than elegance, not caring now how she appears. If Jocelyn has carried this flame for so long, the lines and curves of age are of no concern to her, any more than they are to Maggie herself. In fact, she imagines she prefers to see Jocelyn this way than at the height of her physical splendour in her youth. That might have been intimidating, but this, this is exhilarating. She longs to know every fold and crease, not that there are many; every freckle and mole, every small scar or mark. In time, she will. The realisation floods through her again, joyfully. She will. They can. This is actually happening. 

Jocelyn has positioned herself on her side, head on her pillow, her eyes open wide and starry as she watches Maggie negotiate herself into place, opposite. She lifts a hand to stroke Maggie's hair, continuing down her shoulder, across to her breast, where Jocelyn's fingers linger on the fullness, the wrinkles around the aureole, lightly stroking the very tip of her nipple. Maggie exhales a hissing 'yes', and her hands seek to reciprocate. For easily five minutes, they lie like this, exploring one another; stroking, touching, at first feather light, then surer. Their foreheads touch, tips of noses nuzzle, and through half lidded eyes, Maggie can see Jocelyn staring at her, drinking in the sight as if it were a finite thing. Then, her hands move down, across Jocelyn's buttock, onto her thigh, beautifully shaped and, like her arms, toned. She nudges her leg in between Jocelyn's, enjoying the heat that meets her there. Her hand grasps Jocelyn's thigh tighter, using her as leverage to bring them closer still. In some part of her awareness, Maggie can feel Jocelyn doing the same to her, and the proximity of those fingers almost makes her come then and there. Slowly, Jocelyn strokes the back of her leg, edging as near as she can to her crotch. She cants her hips into Maggie, causing her to groan in anticipation.

"Hmm?" Jocelyn queries, and Maggie musters all her strength to reply,

"Oh God yes!" before breaking into a sigh of delight as the tip of Jocelyn's index finger extends into her, parting her, finding her wet with anticipation. Nudging past her nose, she presses her lips in to find Jocelyn's, open and ready, and kisses her deeply. Then, Maggie moves her leg out a bit, to replace it with her hand, curving round, fingers curling through the delicate hairs, gently searching through the heat. Carefully, she parts Jocelyn, one finger, then another, tentative at first, until she finds her slick and waiting. Jocelyn moans, a deep, visceral sound that speaks more fluently than any word to Maggie's heart. She reaches in a bit further, always gentle, never pushing. And now Jocelyn seeks Maggie's lips, fierce and fast, tongues melding and parting, groans pouring from one to the other.

It is Maggie who has the easier position, and soon she feels Jocelyn's arm around her relax back, her fingers tracing incoherent patterns on her thigh, as she continues to explore. A particular cry, half 'oh', half moan, tells her she has found what she's looking for, and slowly, Maggie begins to focus her touch on Jocelyn's clit. Through the urge and thrust of her hips, and the small cries of delight from Jocelyn, she finds the right speed, the right pressure. She had closed her eyes to concentrate, but now opens them, to find Jocelyn still watching, taking in every expression of joy and pleasure that Maggie supposes her face is showing. She meets her gaze, and feels the power of sharing this contact well up inside her. But Jocelyn's moans are becoming faster and lighter, her body twitching with ecstasy as, with one final gentle stroke, Maggie brings her to climax. Jocelyn shudders into Maggie, shivering with the experience, little cries still emanating from somewhere deep within her. Her fingers still inside Jocelyn, Maggie holds her by the waist with her other hand, her touch firm and secure. Slowly, she slides her fingers away, unable to resist touching Jocelyn's clit one last time, causing her to tremor again. 

With care, Maggie lifts her hand to Jocelyn's hip, soothing her shaking body. She slips the other hand out from under Jocelyn's side and moves it up to brush her cheek. Jocelyn nuzzles her, looking up out of hooded eyes, as Maggie bends in to press a kiss to her forehead. 

"You okay, petal?" She asks. Even now, Jocelyn seems wordless, full of wonder for what has happened. She nods, lips just open, eyes unblinking, starlike. 

"Maggie... Thank you." Her breath is still uneven, and Maggie isn't sure, but she thinks she sees a tear at the corner of Jocelyn's eye. She smiles back at her, reassuring; tries to ensure the warmth she feels is audible in her voice.

"You're welcome." There's so much else she could say; some things, even, that she wants to tell Jocelyn. Yet it strikes Maggie that she's never seen her this vulnerable. There have been times, yes... But this is different. There's a fragility there, possibly caused by grief; a broken tension, probably stemming from the trial, and even a feeling of exposure. Then, as if the thought came fully fledged into her mind, Maggie understands. Jocelyn has never laid herself so bare before. This woman to whom private _means_ private has never let another person share in her most intimate experiences. Not just in terms of sex, necessarily. Maggie doesn't know, and nor does it bother her whether or not Jocelyn has had previous lovers. No, it is the intense emotion behind her orgasm that Maggie is suddenly very clear about. Jocelyn has never had sex with someone she loved before. As the realisation dawns on Maggie, she raises her hand to stroke Jocelyn's hair, stunned. Without breaking her gaze, she lowers her lips to Jocelyn's forehead, kissing her softly, trying to say so much in that one action. To affirm. To reassure. To accept. To treasure this giving. Then, shifting her position, moving her hand down, Maggie drops her mouth to Jocelyn's, stealing a light kiss, before offering something more. Slowly, Jocelyn reciprocates, her tongue searching for contact, building up speed and passion. When she breaks the kiss, the main traces of her vulnerability are gone, hidden back inside. She faces Maggie straight on, a new daring in her eyes. 

"I'd like to..." Jocelyn pushes herself up on her elbow, hand tracing patterns on Maggie's cheek as she lies back. Maggie blinks in acceptance, and quirks an eyebrow.

"I can think of nothing better." 

Jocelyn grins, that predatory look back in her face now. Her fingers trail across Maggie's jaw, thumb smoothes her bottom lip. Then she moves lower, exploring the delicate skin of Maggie's neck, feeling her pulse, stroking over her voice box, and down to her clavicle. She dips her head to lightly kiss the spot. Maggie takes the opportunity to brush her hands over Jocelyn's back, noting the slight wrinkle to her skin, feeling a couple of moles rise against her fingers. But now, Jocelyn moves her lips to Maggie's breasts; opening her mouth to tongue and suck, giving a sultry look up at Maggie out of the tops of her eyes as she lightly nips, before kissing the spot with an unparalleled tenderness. As she takes Maggie's left aureole in her mouth, Jocelyn's hand reaches to Maggie's stomach; feather light touches cause her to tremble, and she twitches her hips upwards, begging. Jocelyn lifts her lips long enough to chide,

"Patience!" And returns to her task. Now her fingers spread across Maggie's tummy, reaching lower, tips curling into light hair and moving sideways to the crease between her leg and pelvis. She strokes her hand down Maggie's leg, and back up, teasing a finger over her crotch. 

"Jocelyn..." The word rings in Maggie's ear as she pleads, her voice somewhere between a moan and a whimper. "Please!" And her fingertips dig into Jocelyn's back, raking at her, trying to convey her need. At last, Maggie feels Jocelyn lay a hand over her sex, light pressure nearly enough to tip her over the edge. She tries to glance down, her head unwilling to move even an inch off the pillow, and Jocelyn seems to respond to the movement. She lifts her lips from Maggie's breast, and raises her head to look into her eyes. Then, easing herself back up, she holds herself over Maggie, one hand still paused, feeling her heat. She leans on her other elbow, snaking her fingers under Maggie's head, to hold her steady. 

Jocelyn's eyes never leave Maggie's face, watching her reaction as she dips a finger into her, breathing out a low sigh of pleasure as she does. 

"You are exquisite." The words caress Maggie, as she feels herself held in Jocelyn's embrace. She urges her hips up, moans as she tries to indicate that she wants Jocelyn deeper into her; to feel her soft touch inside her. And, a deep grin working its way across her face, Jocelyn complies, edging another finger in to gently rub at Maggie's clit. It is almost too much for her, this sensation, and Maggie's mind seems to lose control of her voice; she can hear herself sighing and moaning, whimpering Jocelyn's name, begging her. 

"What do you want?" Jocelyn has dipped her head to Maggie's ear, and the words bring her back for a moment. 

"You! Everything... Oh God, you." Maggie's eyes snap open again - she's not sure when she closed them - and she twists her head to meet Jocelyn's face, to be grounded in those clear blue eyes, to kiss her and be kissed. She can feel her climax coming, her heart racing faster and faster, her body trembling as Jocelyn moves her fingers in time. And now Jocelyn is staring into her, watching her face in detail, committing every flicker of movement, every cry of delight to memory. 

"Come for me, Maggie." Jocelyn's voice is low, a whisper so quiet that Maggie isn't even certain she actually said it; maybe she imagined it, but the instruction tips her over, and she's curling into Jocelyn, tightening around her, breath coming in shallow whimpers as her body shakes with excitement. Somehow, she pulls Jocelyn down on top of her, burying her head into Jocelyn's neck. The skin there is soft and wrinkled, more so than anywhere else on her body; it feels like fine crushed silk on her nose and cheek, on her lips as she presses kisses in. She's faintly aware of Jocelyn's hands in her hair, and supporting her around the waist. Slowly, Maggie lifts her head from its place of refuge, seeking out Jocelyn's lips once again. She shifts under the weight of Jocelyn and tips their bodies to lie sideways on.

They rest like this for awhile, Jocelyn stroking Maggie's hair, soft kisses breaking the silence that comes as Maggie's breath returns to normal. A shiver from Jocelyn brings Maggie fully back to awareness, and she rubs her hands up and down Jocelyn's arm.

"You should get something on, you're getting cold. Though how, I don't know." 

Jocelyn chuckles; a twitch of her head, her smile broadening, but she pushes herself to sit up all the same, drawing her knees up and grasping them with her hands. She glances down at Maggie, a sideways look, almost sly.

"I suppose I should lend you a nightdress?"

"No thanks! If it's all the same to you, that is? You keep this place so warm I'll be roasting." Maggie retorts, manoeuvring herself up onto one elbow. Jocelyn laughs, a bark of a sound breaking the quiet. 

"As you like." She shifts to the side of the bed, and stands, legs visibly shaky. Turns and reaches under her pillow for her own nightie. As she does this, Maggie considers Jocelyn's thighs; their fine form, muscular, even, and taut fresh skin.

"How do you look this good?" The question is out of her mouth before Maggie can stop it, and she watches Jocelyn's response with interest. 

"Hmm?" Jocelyn stands facing her, hips thrown out, shoulders back; insouciant. The sight makes Maggie grin and feel weak again, all at the same time. 

"Your legs, woman, how do you have the legs of someone half your age?"

Jocelyn snorts, and with a svelte move, engineers the garment over her head. "Swimming," comes the answer, from inside the fabric. As she pushes her head through, and fingers the nightdress into place, she repeats herself. "Swimming. I try to every day. It's only a small pool in the garden, but it's handy. In the summer, if it's warm enough, sometimes I anchor the boat and swim in the sea."

"Surprised it's ever warm enough for you." Maggie props her chin on her knuckles, can feel the grin broadening across her face.

"I'm a water baby, Maggie. I grew up with the sea. Besides, the trick is to swim hard enough to keep oneself warm." Jocelyn runs a comb through her hair, and then turns towards the bedroom door. "Do you want to brush your teeth? I kept that toothbrush for you from the other week."

"Did you now?" Maggie's eyes gleam. Jocelyn shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly, as she turns to switch on a smaller light by the side of the bed.

"I thought you might need it again. It's in the other bathroom, I'll get it." She disappears out on to the landing, and Maggie hears her steps across the floor. A summer dressing gown hangs on the back of the door, deep blue cotton, well worn to the point of holes in places. She gets up and puts it on, letting it hang loose. When Jocelyn comes back in, switching off the main light as she does, Maggie is standing at the window, standing between the curtains. The moonlight plays upon a restless sea, and illuminates the few clouds in the sky. She is startled when Jocelyn touches her shoulder, offering the toothbrush, as well as a facecloth and towel. 

"Thanks, sweetheart." 

They take turns in the en suite, even though Maggie knows it would be just as simple for her to use the regular bathroom, the one she's used to. But somehow, being here, in this space, is a part of the experience. She leans on the doorframe, watching Jocelyn brush her teeth, wash her face, glance up at herself in the mirror and back down again. As they swap places, Jocelyn strokes Maggie's back lightly, fingering the fabric, a thoughtful expression on her face. Maggie raises an eyebrow.

"You don't mind?"

"Not in the slightest. Sorry it's so threadbare. It was my father's." Jocelyn eyes Maggie warily, as if she might say something derisive, but Maggie only nods, and smiles. When she moves to the sink, she catches Jocelyn's reflection in the mirror, watching her. But it is only when Maggie turns to go back into the bedroom that Jocelyn, tilting her head on one side, speaks.

"How did you get that scar? The one on your leg?" For a moment, she almost sounds like she is questioning a witness in the box.

Maggie grins ruefully. "A souvenir from Greenham. I had an altercation with the fence while wire cutting... The fence won." 

"It looks like it was deep?"

"It was." Maggie nods, a smile twitching at the corner of her lips. "Luckily, the woman next to me was a nurse. And we had a Doctor at our gate too, so she patched me up afterwards." 

"So much for the journalist not getting involved." Jocelyn smirks, looks coyly at Maggie out of half lidded eyes.

"Yeah, well. I think we both know I was never very good at that. Anyway, I took the Greenham job because I believed in what they, in what we were doing. So many reporters, men, mostly, were so patronising. I wanted to show the real story." Maggie glances at Jocelyn, taking in the affectionate amusement she sees written in her face. "Don't give me that look. What're you thinking?"

"That some things never change."

"Absolutely. Now..." Maggie approaches her, and lays her hands Jocelyn's waist, "shall we go to bed?" She leans in to kiss Jocelyn lightly on the lips. "Because if you stand there like that much longer, I may have to undress you again. And we probably should get some sleep."

Jocelyn laughs, glancing at Maggie from half closed eyes. "Probably." She saunters towards the bed. "You're sure about the nightdress?"

"Certain." She reaches the door side of the bed and flips the covers back. "I don't know if you noticed, but I didn't actually need the one you lent me last time, either..." Maggie glances over at Jocelyn, enjoying the heated look she gets in response. "Why would I want something between me and this linen, anyway?" Maggie runs a hand across it with pleasure. She shrugs the dressing gown off and replaces it on the door, turning back to find Jocelyn watching her, again. "What?"

"Nothing." Jocelyn shakes her head, smiling, before sitting down and sliding her legs into the bed with a luxurious 'ohhh'. She removes a pillow and deposits it down the side of the bed, lies facing Maggie. "I was just enjoying the sight of you." 

Maggie chooses a pillow, and settles herself into the bed, sighing with delight as she eases her legs between the sheets. 

"Have I ever told you how much I love linen sheets? This is a real treat, I can tell you." She wriggles down the bed, savouring the cool, smooth feel of the fabric against her skin.

Jocelyn grins, and extends a hand to stroke Maggie's cheek, running her thumb down from the bridge of her nose to its tip. She leans in to kiss Maggie, a soft, inviting movement, then rolls away to reach out an arm and turn the light off. In the darkness, Maggie feels Jocelyn curl back in, her hand seeking through the covers, coming to rest on Maggie's waist. She searches for something to say, that could sum up her emotions about this evening, but for once is wordless. No one expression could do justice to how she feels; she'd be hard put to limit it to an editorial length for that matter. Maggie lifts her hand to Jocelyn's face, brushing her fingers back across her ear, into her hair, cupping her head and gently bringing her nearer. Even in the dark, she thinks she can see a glint that tells her Jocelyn's eyes are still open. 

"I love you." She whispers, and feels Jocelyn smile against her lips before she kisses her. Then, the glimmer that is Jocelyn's eyes disappear, and in time, her breath becomes even and deep.

oOo

Maggie wakes at ten to five to find Jocelyn's side of the bed empty. She's not all that surprised; neither of them have slept well, for all their exertion. Most times she came to consciousness during the night, she was aware that Jocelyn was tossing and turning. Each occasion, Maggie would lay a hand on her, draw her in close, and they would hold each other until first one, then the other drifted off. However, the change in light, visible through a gap in the curtains, tells her that Jocelyn has probably given up all attempts at sleep, and may be downstairs. Maggie stretches out on her pillow, and luxuriates in the spacious bed. Her thighs feel pleasantly stiff, and her tummy a little tauter from last night's passion. The linen is blissful on her skin, and really, she could stay here, between waking and sleeping, for hours. But then her ears catch Jocelyn's feet on the stairs, and she's just managed to prop herself up on her elbows when the door opens.

"Good morning." Jocelyn's voice sounds like she's smiling, even though Maggie can barely see her in the dim light. 

"Morning petal, what're you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep, and I guessed you weren't likely to for much longer, so I've made us some tea. At least, I've made myself tea, and _you_ coffee." Jocelyn puts a tray down on the table by the window, and draws the curtains back to reveal the beginnings of a vibrant dawn. 

"Angel." Maggie yawns and tries to cover it.

"Flattery will get you nowhere." But Jocelyn is twinkling as she shakes her finger at Maggie. "Now, I suggest you put on that dressing gown and come over here." 

Maggie raises an eyebrow at an unseeing Jocelyn, smirks and shakes her head. Groaning, she pushes herself upright, and slides her feet out of the bed, on to the floor. Instead of taking the dressing gown, she pads over to where Jocelyn stands, warm in her own, quilted robe, and wraps her arms around her.

"Perhaps I'd rather not?" She grins with delight at the amusement on Jocelyn's face, and lifts her lips to kiss her. 

"Well it's your own choice, but I was going to suggest we have our tea on the balcony... You might get a little cold." Jocelyn winks, untangles herself from Maggie's arms, and fetches the dressing gown. "Go on, put it on." 

Maggie shrugs her shoulders and smiles over at her. Then her eye rests on the tray, and beside it, her eCig. "Absolute angel." She reaffirms, grinning at the somewhat smug expression she finds on Jocelyn's face. "You know how to treat a woman." 

"Well, I know how to treat you, at any rate." Seemingly satisfied that Maggie is decent, Jocelyn opens the windows on to the balcony, and lifts her teacup. There is a seat there, but she chooses to stand, leaning on the railing, facing into the new rays of the sun, rays rich amber come red. Maggie comes to stand beside her, leaning in close, eCig in one hand, coffee in the other. Somewhere in the bushes below, birds are singing; Maggie can hear Great Tits, a Chaffinch or two, maybe even a Blackbird. Beyond them, the whistling of a light breeze through aluminium masts and stays, down in the marina adds to the ever present sound of waves on the shore, and the cry of gulls circling the harbour. 

"This is gorgeous." Maggie looks across at Jocelyn, notes how the light has turned her hair a rich auburn copper, although the effect is fading as fast as the sun rises. It illuminates her eyes, too, catching the small flecks of gold at the centre of her irises. _"You're_ gorgeous." It thrills her that she can say those words out loud. Heck, that she can even think them, without feeling guilty.

Jocelyn doesn't reply, though Maggie sees a smile playing about her lips as she takes sip of tea. Together, they stand there, in silence, for how long Maggie isn't sure. There is so much to see, even though the town lies quiet. It's a nice time of day, she thinks. Peaceful, but alert. 

As the sky around the sun lightens to palest gold, Maggie is startled from her reverie by Jocelyn snaking an arm around her, hand sitting easily on her waist. She inclines her head, to look into Maggie's face. 

"I'm glad we could share this moment, Maggie."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The text of Orlando remains copyright to the estate of Virginia Woolf, and no infringement on their rights was intended in the quotation of it.


	3. Strong enough?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of the (extended) final scene between Maggie and Jocelyn in 2:8.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I chose to take the extended final scene (extras on the DVD) as canon, rather than the short version we got in the actual episode. I have actually taken their lines of speech, and drawn that whole scene out some, so please note that technically, those lines of speech belong to Chris Chibnall. (I haven't marked them out - you all know where they begin and where they end!!!) 
> 
> Once again, many thanks to GirlOnABridge for cheerleading, and to featherxquill for the last minute beta-ing! You're both _marvellous_. 
> 
> Aubry, I know you saw the beginning of this when I was in much need of reassurance, but nonetheless, I hope the whole thing lives up to the wait I've given you on it!!!

"Not Guilty."

Maggie goes through the rest of the afternoon in a daze. In later days, she will be hard put to say what, exactly, she did with the time. She certainly doesn't have a moment to come to terms with the verdict herself. First there is Oliver to comfort, his blasé urbane-hack front stripped bare; back to the traumatised nephew of a murderer. Then Lucy, raging about the injustice of it all, about how the jury had failed, how the system had failed, how the police had failed...never once admitting her own lapses of judgement. From across the hall, she sees the Latimers leave the building, broken. The one person she doesn't see is Jocelyn. 

Then there is work to be done: the cover to finalise, an editorial to be written - not the one she'd already written a hundred times in her mind. She has to remain professional, detached, clear. There is Oliver's court report to be proofread, a harder job than normal as he struggles to keep his emotions in check. It is gone eight before she leaves the office, the last one out as always. She glances up at the house on Clifftop Way. No sign of life. For all the warmth of the day, there's a chill in the air now, so Maggie makes the short walk back to her flat to exchange her jacket for something warmer. On her way back down the street, towards the prom and the start of the Clifftop path, she stops at the off license. 

When she checks the house, Jocelyn's not there and the key is gone. Maggie pauses on the patio, tries to think where she might be. The beach is too busy, even now. She knows Jocelyn will be avoiding people. And to get to the boat, she'd have to pass through the funfair; deal with the other sailing enthusiasts at the marina, sat out relaxing in the evening light. No, she won't have gone that way. Which means she must have gone over the hill, past the hut where Danny was murdered and down towards the estuary. Maggie sets her teeth and gets walking. She used to love this path, had walked it on a weekly basis for the last fifteen years, until the details of how and where Joe murdered Danny changed the feel of it. She still knows the rhythm of the grasses and wildflowers, though, and gets something from grounding herself in the solitude that doesn't press around her like London did. As she walks, Maggie takes the occasional swig of Gin, not really caring if anyone sees her. Anyone who matters will know the reason why.

She spots Jocelyn sitting on an upturned dinghy from above, but doesn't call out. Instead, Maggie speed walks down the remains of the path, near stumbles across the rocky ground to approach her from behind. The sunset is beautiful, if only she could spare the emotional energy to take it in. Even the estuary speaks to their experience. The bare walls of mud stand starkly against the remains of low tide; the hulls of boats abandoned by the sea lie tilted and alone. She almost doesn't notice the gulls' forlorn cry ever present in the breeze, as focussed as she is on getting to Jocelyn. 

Maggie stops a few metres away and considers her friend. Her entire thought had been taken up with getting to be _with_ Jocelyn, of _sharing_ their pain, _together_. But now she sees her, Maggie realises with a sigh that it's not going to be that easy. Jocelyn wears the air of someone who is brooding. Her whole body screams, with a Garbo tone, _'I want to be alone.'_

"I bought gin." Maggie announces her presence, although she's fairly certain Jocelyn heard her coming. As she watches, trying to gauge what to say next, Jocelyn turns away, face to the sea.

"Go away." She speaks with such a low voice, nearly a moan, and Maggie can't help but lay aside her own pain, once again. She makes the final steps to the boat, dumps her bag unceremoniously, and sits down, close enough to Jocelyn's back to feel her tense up.

"It's not your fault." Maggie offers, whether as reconciliation or reassurance, she's not sure. Jocelyn turns her head slightly, still doesn't look at her. Maggie can sense that her back is well and truly 'up'. Nonetheless, Jocelyn's rejoinder shocks her.

"I know, it's yours."

Her compassion turns to the raw anger that has been lingering in her heart since the verdict. Maggie fumes, turning to look at the side of Jocelyn's head, trying to persuade her to look round, to no avail.

"What!"

Jocelyn gestures in frustration. "Well you talked me into it!" She waves her arm, flourishes her hands to ram home her point. "I mean you said I was the only one who could do it, and...well you were wrong! And I hope you're bloody pleased with yourself." Jocelyn leans back in her annoyance, her back vibrating with unspoken fury, and Maggie moves away an inch, as if touching Jocelyn at this juncture will be spark to the flame of rage they both hold.

"You are _priceless_!" Maggie cannot help herself. She has spent all afternoon providing comfort and support to the people whose lives this case has changed irreparably; giving herself to the people of Broadchurch, and here is Jocelyn, the one person she thought she could share her own pain with, having the audacity to blame _her_ for all of this.

"I didn't want to do this, you blackmailed me!" Jocelyn's head nods in time with her speech, as if vindicating her argument to herself. Maggie cannot help but scoff, and Jocelyn rolls her shoulders, the image of a sulky child. "...If I'd known how reckless they'd all been...!" She clutches her knee again, as if somehow she alone can hold herself together.

"They're human beings," Maggie cajoles, trying to get Jocelyn to remember that these are real people who are suffering even more than she is at what has happened. And it's bloody rich, Jocelyn saying _she_ is responsible, when Jocelyn wouldn't even listen to her, that first time. "I thought you'd done it 'cause it was the right thing to do." She's a bit disappointed, actually. It had relieved her that Jocelyn had given in, had taken on the case, seemingly off her own bat. It had felt like a seismic shift in the effort of getting Jocelyn to engage with the world again; that she had made the decision to do so for noble reasons. 

Jocelyn pauses, her sulk turning to petulance. "I was happy up there by myself."

Maggie scoffs again, infuriated almost to the point of hilarity, "Rubbish! You were stewing." The worst thing is, she knows Jocelyn knows this and is refusing to admit it. In all her annoyance, Maggie feels a daft warmth for this idiotic creature well up inside her. "I've seen you these past weeks. You're _glowing_. You're back on battle. Where you belong." She can see Jocelyn tilt her head, pondering these descriptions, debating whether to accept them. Maggie sighs, and unscrews the top from the gin. "And the next one will be different." She cannot let Jocelyn fade back into obscurity now, just because of this. She knows, better than anyone else, how much Jocelyn still has to give to the world - if only she can make her see it. Believe it. Maggie takes a swig, the sharp, bitter taste easing the pain rising in her chest.

"There won't be a next one." 

Furious, Maggie can hardly get her words out. "You… Don't you _dare_ say that!" She is not losing all her hard work helping Jocelyn to a childish temper tantrum. Maggie pauses, collecting her thoughts. "You think you're the only one feeling wounded?" She leans in towards Jocelyn's ear, knowing her tone is bitter, hoping against hope that Jocelyn will wake up to just how selfish she is being.

"I can take a loss, but this one mattered. Now the whole town knows I failed. It hurts."

 _Now_ they're getting to the bottom of it. Maggie couldn't have told Jocelyn it was this that was at the root of her frustration, even though she knew it. It is something she has to admit and accept for herself. Nor is she entirely open to Jocelyn's plea. This trial was not _about_ her. Not in terms of the bigger picture. Of course, the effect of the verdict on Jocelyn mattered to Maggie, and presumably to that stroppy Bishop woman. But for everyone else, Maggie knows it's not Jocelyn's failure that will be weighing them down tonight and over the coming days. They all know there's nothing else she could have done. Suddenly, Maggie feels weary of it all. 

"Yes, well, life does. I never said being back in the world 'ud be painless." She can't help but feel a little sympathetic to this fragile, stubborn fool of a woman who is struggling to deal with emotions she had locked the door against for years. This woman who is her dearest friend; her companion; her lover, even. 

"I want to make it right for them Maggie and I _can't._ " Jocelyn's pain is tangible now, and Maggie knows that she has pulled her back out of herself, into an awareness that she is not the only one affected. Maggie curves her arm round Jocelyn, offering the gin as a token of peace. Sees Jocelyn's lip twitch in disdain, before she takes the bottle anyway.

"No,"Maggie sighs, heart aching for all of them caught up in this disaster. "None of us can now." She will have to resign herself to the verdict sooner or later, but it just feels so unfair.

"D'you think they'll be strong enough?" Jocelyn comes the nearest to looking round at Maggie that she has throughout the conversation. She's lost that selfish tone that had irked Maggie so, and her query bites at Maggie's heart. The worst of it is, she doesn't have the answer. 

Jocelyn takes another swig from the now half empty bottle, and hands it back. This time, her fingers linger at the touch of Maggie's hand. Her head turns again. They're sitting so close that this movement pushes her back to touch Maggie's shoulder. Where a few minutes ago, this would have been tinder to the flame, now it is reassuring. They are not alone. Maggie shifts her left hand to sit just below Jocelyn's thigh, and rests her cheek next to Jocelyn's. For a moment, they are still and silent.

The effort of it all has been so draining that Maggie wonders how they can ever move on from here. Physically, she's not even sure she can move; she just feels so empty. Right on cue, her tummy rumbles, audible above the distant tide and the keening of the seabirds. At the sound, Jocelyn moves her head away. Maggie checks her watch. Quarter past nine. The sun will set shortly, and there's bits of that path back that aren't great at the best of times, let alone in the half light.

"Come on. We should get going." Maggie tries to shake herself, limbs fuzzy with the alcohol. Jocelyn doesn't move. " _Jocelyn._ It's time to go home."

Jocelyn barely looks at her, shoulders slouched, head drawn down. Maggie rolls her eyes. Grabs her bag and stashes the gin. Stands up and reaches out a hand.

"Come on. When did you last eat? Let's go and get some food at any rate." She touches Jocelyn's shoulder, and finally gets a response.

"Don't see how you can want to eat." But Jocelyn stands, nonetheless, with a bad grace.

"I don't, particularly. But I do want to drink the rest of this gin, and neither of us should do that on an empty stomach." Maggie takes Jocelyn's hand, feeling cool skin beneath her own. "And you could do with moving, to warm you up." She strokes the back of Jocelyn's knuckles before twining their fingers together. Jocelyn doesn't resist, and together they walk across the pebbles. Once on the proper path, Maggie sets a brisk pace, so much so that they barely have breath for talking. Back up the hill they go, following the path round the edge of the cliff; past the carpark and the hut, past the graveyard and St Bede's. Past their picnic site of only two days ago. Was it really such a short time since then? Maggie shakes her head in disbelief. 

It's a relief to round the corner and start on the last five minutes down towards Clifftop Way. Maggie is just thinking of suggesting that they get a take out of fish and chips; the shop should still be open, when Jocelyn drops her hand. Ostensibly, it's to fish a hankie out of her pocket and blow her nose, but Maggie notices she doesn't reach back afterwards. Something about this reticence reawakens her earlier ire. When they reach the gate, Jocelyn goes ahead and unlocks the patio door, waiting, then, for Maggie.

"You might as well come in." She grumps, lips turned down.

"Well that's nice!" Maggie fires back as she strides in, past Jocelyn, who closes the door. "What the _hell_ do you think you're playing at? Because if this is your idea of how to treat someone you're in love with, I have to tell you, you've got another thing coming! Has it not even dawned on you that you're not the only one in pain about what's happened today? Did you even once think to ask had I seen the Latimers, or how Oliver, and the Millers were? Did it even cross your mind that _I_ might need to share my frustration too? I tried repeatedly to find you in the court earlier, and when I had no choice but to deal with everyone else's pain, I had to put them first knowing that the only place I wanted to be was with you. The first moment, the very first moment I was free of work, I came to find you, because I knew, Jocelyn, _I knew_ that this would have knocked you backwards. I knew you would be hurting and in need of letting it out, and rather than sharing, which, I might tell you, is what couples _do_ , you pull the bloody wounded martyr routine and make the whole thing about you, _and_ you have the nerve to blame me for getting you into it in the first place, when all I wanted, the _only_ thing I have ever wanted for you Jocelyn, is to see you alive and glowing the way you have been lately." Maggie can feel hot tears rolling down her cheeks, and she brushes them away with a hasty hand.

"Do you really think I didn't know this would be hard for you? Why the hell did you think I came looking for you? Because I can assure you, it wasn't to be bollocked for bringing you back into the world, when you were thanking me for it only two days ago. Do you honestly think it's okay to tell someone you love them, and take them to bed, and then two days later behave like this? Because if you do, we seriously need to sort a few things out before this goes _any_ further." Maggie pauses, gasping for breath. She can feel her eyelashes flickering wildly on cheeks that burn with anger. She hasn't lost her temper like this in decades. She is not going to be put through the mill like this by Jocelyn again, not now. Not after fifteen years. Her certainty from two nights ago has melted away under the heat of this fury. And the worst of it is, all she wants is to be held by the cause and subject of her ire; kissed and touched and reassured, because underneath it all, Maggie knows that Jocelyn hasn't done any of this intentionally. That almost makes it worse.

Jocelyn stands, eyes wide open, mouth slack and uncertain; horrorstruck in the face of such anger. Maggie can barely see her through her rapid blinking; she's trying to stop herself from crying with sheer rage.

"I..." Jocelyn falters, looking utterly lost and dejected, not even knowing where to start dealing with this side of Maggie that she's never seen. "I didn't...I don't...I had no idea..." She flounders, then starts getting angry herself, and strident with it. "And anyway, how dare you come..." 

But Maggie is already shouting over her. "No, you never do, that's the problem. You need to start learning some bloody empathy! Not everyone is as rigid and as focussed and as in control as you are, Jocelyn! Not everyone is able to go through life putting everything into little boxes and locking them away, compartmentalising everything the way you do..."

"Well I think you're being very unreasonable Maggie, and what on earth has kicked this off? Why do you..." 

"...and as damn perfect as you, and oh... Can we not be having this argument, Jocelyn, because I can't, I can't do this. Either we are a couple and we face this together, or..." Maggie is cut off in the middle of her rant by Jocelyn stepping decisively across the room to her, placing one hand on her shoulder, and reaching the other up to Maggie's face to brush away her tears with her fingers. Maggie is shaking with fury and distress, and at first remains stiff against Jocelyn's gentle grasp pulling them together. Jocelyn's fingers span across her cheek, slipping across her ear and down to her chin, and Maggie can feel her head being tilted up, and Jocelyn's lips meeting hers, gentle at first, persuasive, then hungry. She falls into the kiss, feeling the passion of her anger change in a heartbeat to overwhelming desire. Her hands move to grasp Jocelyn's waist, her hips, her bum, getting behind the coat which she hasn't had a chance to remove yet; rucking up the jumper till her fingers meet the soft skin of Jocelyn's back. She pushes back, now, into Jocelyn, into their kiss, until Jocelyn is leaning against the bookcase and their bodies are pressed tight together. The heat that sparks between them almost takes Maggie's breath away, as she desperately tries to touch all of Jocelyn at once.

"I need you..." Maggie breaks free of the kiss to whisper, her voice sounding throaty and hoarse to her ears. "...now." 

Jocelyn, one hand still at the side of Maggie's head, the other clasping her waist, brings their foreheads together and looks into Maggie's eyes as best she can.

"Upstairs?" Jocelyn kisses her lips to Maggie's nose, her eyelids, her forehead, before slipping through her grasp to step across and turn the key in the lock. 

In those few seconds, Maggie feels bereft, but has hardly gained her breath before Jocelyn is back, taking her hands, walking backwards through the dining room, leading her towards the hall door. Maggie isn't entirely sure what's holding her up, she's certain it isn't her legs, which feel like jelly. She's tingling all over, especially in her centre, and her heart is racing. They are still going to have to talk all of this out, but right now she needs...and wants...nothing more than to feel Jocelyn inside her, all over her. This thought brings her swiftly forward, into Jocelyn's arms, pressing her against the panelled wood by the stairs. She pushes at the coat, and Jocelyn follows her lead, slipping out of it, before returning her hands to Maggie's face, drawing her in to another searching, deep kiss. Maggie's hands fumble with Jocelyn's hips, one trying to get below the waistline of her jeans, the other moving to try and unzip them. She manages half and half, until her fingers ease down and stroke the top of her hip, one finger slipping in between the plain silk of her knickers and the crease of her thigh. Jocelyn interrupts her searching by trying to smooth off her barber jacket, and Maggie has to let first one hand, and then the other, free to aid her. 

It is Maggie who takes the lead on the stairs, using the bannister to hold herself steady, and feeling her other hand travel all over Jocelyn's waist as they stumble upwards. It seems an eternity before they reach the bedroom, fall through the door and on to the bed. Somehow, Maggie is underneath Jocelyn, and while she fidgets her feet at kicking her shoes off, her hands are already pulling at Jocelyn's jumper, edging it over her head. This time those pristine curls are mussed every which way, giving Jocelyn a wild look, something Maggie has only ever dreamt about before, never seen. She feels herself getting wetter by the moment, moans at the grasp of Jocelyn's hands on her waist, her hips, pushing her trousers down. 

"Please..." Maggie struggles to speak, to form words or even thoughts coherently. For a moment Jocelyn steps away, and Maggie can barely lift herself off the bed to see what she's doing. It turns out Jocelyn is kicking off her own shoes, and finishing the job that Maggie had started with her jeans. Then she turns back to Maggie, pulling her trousers and pants the remaining way down her legs and off. She pauses, momentarily unsure, before Maggie pulls again at her hands, whilst trying to wriggle herself up the bed. Jocelyn assists by pushing her legs over, and crawls up on top of Maggie, looking for all the world like some sort of predator, her eyes gleaming, her smile voracious. They stare at each other, and in the passing of that second, Maggie senses she can feel Jocelyn's genuine sorrow for her earlier behaviour, as well as intense desire. Jocelyn lifts a finger to stroke again at Maggie's tear stained cheek.

"May I...?"

"Will you...?"

The questions come at the same time, and they laugh together, until Jocelyn lowers her lips to Maggie's, tongue probing in a hungry kiss. Then, and Maggie begins to lose track of time here, Jocelyn moves her lips down, over Maggie's neck, her breast bone; a hand fluttering at the blue shirt, trying to unbutton it one handedly and giving up, instead rucking the soft material against her breast. She nudges her nose and mouth between the fabric and Maggie's skin, catching her nipple between her teeth. Maggie squirms, moaning as Jocelyn's tongue lathes her breast, a sound which turns to a surprised gasp as she bites into the soft flesh, sucking hard. 

"You bit me! You actually _bit_ me..." Maggie can hear her voice straining with desire.

Jocelyn lifts her head momentarily to lock eyes with Maggie, a feral grin playing about her lips. "Well, you did say I was all bark and no bite... Obliged me to prove you wrong." She lowers her head then, moving further down Maggie's body, pushing the shirt upwards so she can kiss her midriff, drop her lips to Maggie's belly button, to the soft skin just below. She dips her nose to scent her, and even the sound of Jocelyn sniffing is enough to make Maggie moan again, incoherent whimpers following on, pleading with her. 

Jocelyn doesn't waste time teasing, now, but lowers her lips to Maggie's crotch, tongue seeking out her heat, reaching in to lick and taste and suck. With her hands entangled in Jocelyn's hair, Maggie can feel as much as hear her groan with pleasure. She tries to ignore the temptation to close her eyes - she wants to _see_ Jocelyn as well as feel her; see the glint in her eyes as she checks if Maggie is with her; see the grin as she lifts her mouth just a moment to draw out the experience. In sheer need, Maggie arches her back, canting her hips up to Jocelyn, mutely begging for more. It's the last thing she is aware of before Jocelyn tongues her clit, softly at first, then firmer and faster. Shaking with desire, Maggie trembles all over as her orgasm rushes through her body. Jocelyn's hands are on her thighs, her hips, clasping her, stroking her, holding her tight as Maggie feels herself falling backwards, eyes finally closed, crying out with the fierce desire of it all. Soft, now, Jocelyn licks again; gentle, urges her tongue further inside Maggie, and then back out, lightly over her clit once more, before she lifts her head. 

Maggie is hardly aware of Jocelyn making her way back up, delicate as her touch is. But then she opens her eyes and finds Jocelyn looking down on her, smiling broadly, lips glistening, mouth just open. 

"You are the most beautiful woman, Maggie Radcliffe, and I love you," Jocelyn murmurs, her eyes never leaving Maggie's. "And." She pauses, takes a deep breath. "And I _am_ sorry. I just...don't always know how to say it." 

Maggie lifts a hand, weak and trembling, to pull Jocelyn's lips down to her own, into a deep, searching kiss that lasts at least a minute.

"You can say it _that way_ anytime you like." Maggie grins up at Jocelyn, lifting her head an inch off the pillow so she can kiss her nose, her cheek, the corner of her lips. "But I think it might be my turn..."

"To say sorry?" Jocelyn's eyes twinkle.

"Fool!" Maggie twists and wriggles until they're side by side, and then manoeuvres herself to kneeling beside Jocelyn. Her legs are stiff and sticky, and when Jocelyn, head resting on one hand, reaches the other to stroke her belly, fingers slipping to curl into the hair below, tremors ripple through Maggie's body. "Ah! My turn." She moves a hand to cup Jocelyn's face; tender now, her earlier frustration transformed and spent. "Share and share alike..." Maggie lowers her mouth to Jocelyn's, placing a light kiss there, feeling her lips twist into a grin. She lets her hand drop to Jocelyn's shoulder, and with soft pressure Maggie pushes her onto her back. 

From her vantage point above Jocelyn, Maggie takes great pleasure in watching how her body is reacting. She can see Jocelyn's heart beat above the fabric of her bra; notes how small tremors of excitement are fluttering across her midriff. Her eyes linger over Jocelyn's hips, her thighs, the muscles twitching under such close scrutiny. Maggie longs to taste her.

With a bit of an effort, she straddles Jocelyn's legs; hands now exploring her chest, her ribs, the slight curve of her tummy. Chokes back a gasp of longing. It still floors Maggie that someone can make her feel so intensely, whether it be desire, anger or frustration. No one else has ever made her feel this strongly. She fingers the straps of Jocelyn's bra, then leans down, sliding her hands underneath Jocelyn to unfasten the hooks and pull it off. Then, and only then, does Maggie dip her head to kiss Jocelyn's chest; lightly at first, and then by turns sucking and nibbling. She can feel Jocelyn's hands on her shoulders, hear her murmurs of approval, particularly when her teeth begin to graze Jocelyn's breasts. In slow circles, Maggie works her way inwards to her nipple, pausing to look up when she gets there. Jocelyn's eyes are glowing, her lips slightly parted, her cheeks flushed. Maggie kisses her, a light touch to the tightened spot, then takes the nipple in her mouth, biting gently before beginning to suck with ever increasing pressure. Underneath her, Jocelyn squirms.

Her mouth still working on Jocelyn's breast, Maggie moves her hands down Jocelyn's sides, barely there fingernails doing their best to pull at her skin. She can feel her fingers bump over each rib, then meet no resistance as they fall down to her stomach. Her thumbs rub concentric circles there, and Maggie shifts backwards a little, so she can move her head down; eyes still watching Jocelyn's reaction. The jut of her hip bones fit comfortably into Maggie's palms, and she can feel wiry hair beneath her fingers. Jocelyn gives a contented little moan as Maggie kisses, then licks around her belly button. Even from here, she can smell Jocelyn, reminiscent of the sea. She buries her nose in Jocelyn's crotch, breathing in deeply, her smile widening. 

Too many times, when they first met, Maggie had imagined what Jocelyn might taste like. This woman who was lithe as a willow with nerves sharp as steel. It wasn't her usual habit, to think of people like that, but with Jocelyn she had barely been able to contain herself. Even that time by the swimming pool in the garden, when Jocelyn had been holding her legs, Maggie had found herself looking down through the evening sun, just wishing Jocelyn would say something that might open them up to this. She lifts her head to lock eyes once more with Jocelyn.

"What?" Jocelyn almost sounds concerned, and Maggie cannot help but grin.

"I want to remember this. 'S'never happened before, fifteen years between first wanting to do something and actually getting the chance." 

"You...?"

"Oh yes." Maggie relishes the heated look on Jocelyn's face as the full meaning of this filters through her thoughts. "You don't think you're the only one, do you, who can quietly long for something?"

Jocelyn seems incapable of speech, only moaning in reply. Maggie lowers her head again, nose dipping into the greying hair. Just below, she can see the lips of Jocelyn's cunt, and she lathes her tongue slowly along them; then a second time. The third, she pushes her tongue in a little further, the tip meeting Jocelyn's wetness. Above, she hears a guttural sigh. Jocelyn tastes as she smells; sea air and warm summer days, relaxed, open, welcoming. Maggie's not sure she'll ever be able to taste her enough, but this certainly makes up for her earlier frustration. Slow, still, she licks; relishing the taste, the texture of her, feeling Jocelyn open up to her mouth. Her fingers trace patterns on Jocelyn's stomach, her hips, her thighs. Then Maggie brings one hand down, below her mouth, to extend a finger, gently at first, into Jocelyn's slick cunt. She feels the immediate reaction, the twitch of Jocelyn's thighs on either side of her head, the tilt of her, pushing into Maggie's mouth, urging her finger deeper and deeper. She can feel herself getting wet again, turned on by the taste and the smell and the exhilaration of the moment. 

Slow, Maggie moves her finger in and out, feeling Jocelyn accommodate her; adding a second finger when she hears a groan of approval. Quicker, then, with her tongue, lathing and licking, sucking, and she can feel Jocelyn getting wetter; can taste her orgasm coming. Maggie moves her fingers in time with the urge of Jocelyn's hips, her other hand holding steady on her thigh, anchoring her. She is so taken in with what she's doing that she barely hears Jocelyn's moans, until she tongues her clit one final time. Tremors rock through Jocelyn's body, flooding into Maggie. She feels Jocelyn's hands rake along her shoulders, into her hair, stroking her forehead. Maggie smiles into Jocelyn's cunt, lowering her tongue again to lick once more, until Jocelyn's shaking is too much. Slowly, she smooths her fingers out, kisses Jocelyn's clit with a light touch, and pushes herself up to survey the result. 

Jocelyn is wild and exquisite; her hair tousled, her cheeks blushed, her eyes shining. She glows with exhilaration, her chest heaving. As Maggie manoeuvres herself up along Jocelyn's body, she pauses to kiss the trembling skin of her belly. 

"Maybe I should make you angry more often..." Jocelyn manages to articulate, her voice unsteady, her breath uneven. 

Maggie grins. "I've got fifteen years to catch up on, that's more than enough reason." She drops her lips to Jocelyn's, relishing the salty taste still on her tongue. "Besides which, petal, piss me off like that again and I might think of less enjoyable ways to make my annoyance felt."

Jocelyn gazes up at her, eyes searching, trying to tell how serious she is. Nods, briefly, before inclining her head up to kiss her again. 

"I think I've learnt my lesson." She even sounds contrite. Maggie can't help but smile.

"Good." Her arms feel weak now, and Maggie rolls herself over onto her side, pulling Jocelyn in to face her again. "Because I want to be able to do that again." Maggie considers Jocelyn's face as her lips turn from pout to smirk. "If only to make you look like that."

"Like what?"

"Smug." 

"That's bloody rich, coming from you." But Jocelyn is laughing, her eyes twinkling with delight. Maggie joins her, momentarily at ease with the world. They lie back on the covers, hands entwined. After a time, Jocelyn speaks again. "I see I'm going to have to learn a few things, if we're going to make this work." 

Maggie turns her head on the pillow to find Jocelyn looking at her again. She nods. "I'll not lie and say you don't. But we'll do it together." She can't imagine what it must be like to be entering into a serious relationship after a lifetime of non committal and a few flings. It comes to her that, like every other relationship she's had, this one will take sacrifice on _both_ sides to make it work. To be fair, none of her former partners were as stubborn as Jocelyn is, but she has walked into this eyes open. It's not like Maggie doesn't know how pigheaded Jocelyn can be, how single minded, how frustratingly logical. But she also knows her humour, her vulnerability, her drive and her passion. And no matter how much they have fought over the years - and they have - they have always made up. They fit together. She leans in to kiss Jocelyn, hand stroking her shoulder. Her skin is cool to the touch.

"How about a brew?"

Jocelyn laughs. "You can take the woman out of Yorkshire, but..." She cocks an eyebrow at Maggie. "I'll make the drinks. How about you remake the bed? It's rather...rumpled." Jocelyn sits up and shifts her legs to the side of the bed. Maggie cannot resist running her fingers down the back facing her, smiling as Jocelyn looks over her shoulder and searches under a pillow for her nightdress. It's silky and white, thin straps and lace edging, coming just to her knees. Maggie feels her breath catch at the sight. Suitably clothed, Jocelyn leaves the room.

For a moment or two, Maggie lies prone, just enjoying the sensation. Her heart is still aching for Beth and Mark, but she is determined to be in the present, to not let something out of her hands control her. She is here, in a bed she never expected to be in; the bed of a woman she has loved, in spite of how infuriating she could be, for years. Maggie is a fighter, and she will battle to keep this now. Even if it means accepting Jocelyn's sullen temper tantrums; even if it means letting go of her own pride and expectations now and again. She is here. That's enough to be going on with.

Maggie rolls out of bed and eyes the messy covers. It's going to be simpler to start nearly from scratch, she thinks, and throws the bedding back. Even the bottom sheet is a bit creased from their exertions. It is quick work for her to straighten each layer, and she's just putting the final touches to the bed when she hears the phone ring. Jocelyn answers it on the third ring, and Maggie guesses it must be cordless, as she hears feet on the stairs and Jocelyn's voice getting nearer.

"No, I'm fine, thank you Ben."

Maggie realises Jocelyn is just the other side of the door, and opens it. She can barely keep from giggling at the sight of Jocelyn, clad in just that nightdress, with two steaming mugs in one hand and the phone in her other, looking for all the world like a patient nanny. 

"Yes, yes. I quite agree... Yes... No, really Ben, I'm fine. No, honestly, you don't have to call round..." Jocelyn rolls her eyes as Maggie relieves her of the mugs, and the door creaks shut. "Really..." Having put the tea down, Maggie listens to the little demon in her mind, and starts unbuttoning her shirt, as provocatively as she can manage. Jocelyn's eyes widen as she moves closer and attempts to hold Maggie's hands still. 

"Well actually, as a matter of fact, I do... Yes. How did you know?" Jocelyn blushes, moving a step away - and Maggie resumes the striptease of her shirt. Rolling her eyes, Jocelyn shakes her head with exasperation, wags a finger at her. "Yes. Right, well. I'll be in touch. Bye Ben, thanks for calling... I appreciate the thought... Yes. Bye." Finally, the phone beeps as she hangs up. 

"Ben being the concerned junior?" Maggie questions, her fingers lingering at the last button.

"Ben being the concerned junior," Jocelyn affirms as she puts the phone down. "Offering to come over..." She steps over to Maggie, slipping her hands between the shirt and the vest top she's wearing. "Which I didn't think was necessary, given..." Jocelyn darts her head in to Maggie's neck to place a light kiss. 

"....Given?" Maggie teases, taking a step back.

Jocelyn faces her, nonchalant. "Well, given I have company, for starters." 

"Unhuh," Maggie nods and leans her head to the side. "And just who did he think you had with you?" She watches intently to see Jocelyn's reaction.

"Very funny Maggie. He knew it was you, though how I'm not sure." Jocelyn seems caught between blushing and amusement.

Maggie scoffs. "And you call yourself a lawyer."

"What does that mean?" Jocelyn fires back.

"Do you really not know?" Maggie's eyes widen. "He already thinks we're a couple. From before, I mean. Before the other night."

"No!" Disbelieving, Jocelyn laughs it off. "How on earth would he?"

"I don't know." She's lying, of course. Maggie has a fairly good idea of how Ben might think that - it's called using his eyes. "But he made a comment the day of Veronica's funeral, when I bumped into him on the path. Didn't think into it at the time, but in retrospect..."

"You're pulling my leg!"

"Not a bit of it." Maggie shakes her head, grinning with as innocent a look as she can manage. 

"What did you tell him?"

Maggie winks. "Only that we'd been dating for decades and he wasn't to tell anyone as it was supposed to be a state secret."

"Rubbish! What did you really say?" 

"Nothing, there wasn't anything _to_ say. All he said was something about asking us round for dinner, some time after the trial. It was just the _way_ he said it." 

"Well I never. I'll have to keep him on if he's that good," Jocelyn remarks in some consternation. "But how... Nevermind."

"...Which means I'd better get used to cooking for the pair of you." 

"Ha! Only if you want me to do something."

"I can think of reasons..." Maggie smirks, before turning back to the bed. "Come on, your cocoa's getting cold." She picks Jocelyn's mug up and hands it to her, her grin turning to a softer smile. It's one she gave as a Christmas present years ago, and she's gratified to see it still being used. Jocelyn takes it with a nod and moves round to the other side. Maggie watches her, considering. It was a pleasant surprise, to see Jocelyn admit her presence to Ben; to see her not-too-fearful response to the idea that a colleague might know about them. She knows that fifteen years ago, even five, this would not have happened. A relief, too, after her fears out on the path earlier. Perhaps Jocelyn isn't going to be 'cloak and dagger' about them after all. Maggie knows that is one thing she won't stand for. One previous girlfriend had been desperately wary of coming out, and it had exhausted Maggie, not to mention stifled their relationship. She has no intention of letting that happen again. 

"Will you be warm enough?" Jocelyn eyes her. "I doubt you want to sleep in your shirt?" 

Maggie laughs. "I expect it to be winter before I need nightclothes in this house. And even then, it's a moot point." She slips her arms out of the shirt and, along with their discarded clothing, folds it over the footboard. Then she settles into the bed, stretching her legs out against the smooth, cool linen. "Anyway, I can always cuddle up to you."

Jocelyn grins, a private little look, almost like she's holding something pleasurable to herself. She takes a sip of her drink and nods. "I can't complain about that."

They sit in companionable silence for a while. Maggie finds her thoughts drifting: to the look on Beth's face as she and Mark left the Court, to Ollie's tearful horror, to Ellie and Tom. God, poor Ellie. She is heartsore for all of them, all those lives torn by the actions of one man, the decision of twelve people. Had they any idea of what Joe's actions had done to the town? Or any concept of how their decision could break these good, if fundamentally flawed, people who'd had their lives torn apart twice over? _This_ was why she'd left off crime reporting. The evil that humanity could mete out was bad enough, but the lack of compassionate understanding by lawyers, juries and most of all, her fellow reporters - not to mention the bloody editors - had just become too much. So few seemed to understand that all these people had lives that were eternally affected by decisions made and forgotten about, or cases reported on and abandoned for the next big story. Maggie's face crumples into a frown, that only lifts when she feels the back of Jocelyn's hand trace the side of her cheek. She turns to look, and finds Jocelyn considering her, a gravity about her eyes. 

"What?" Maggie thinks Jocelyn has been watching her for some time.

"I was wondering what you were thinking. You seemed very far away."

A smile twitches on Maggie's lips. "Still here, petal, don't you worry. I was just thinking about the jury." 

The downturn of Jocelyn's mouth is pronounced. "It's not entirely their fault, Maggie. If..." She waves a hand to Maggie's protest. "No. Let me finish. If Sharon hadn't taken on the case; if it had been any other barrister... But this was personal for her." She pauses. "And for me."

Maggie exhales. She's been expecting self-recrimination ever since the verdict was given, but the honesty of Jocelyn's admission takes the words of support from her. 

Jocelyn continues, dogged. "I was _so_ determined I could beat her, Maggie. So _sure_. And that only _I_ could do it. Yes, I took the case to speak for Danny, but only because I didn't think any old team could win against her because _I_ trained her so well. And look how she's used it." She sighs, eyes heavy and dark.

"You're not responsible for her choosing to misuse that training though," Maggie tries to keep her voice neutral. " _You_ didn't teach her to take on defence cases like that, not ones where it's so clear... not ones like Danny. I remember... I know what you're like. You'd have taught her to let someone else do it, in a case like that."

"Yes, and she'd take it just to spite me." 

Maggie sighs. "Well, maybe there was no way of stopping her. She had something to prove."

"Which she wouldn't have had, if I hadn't taken the case..."

"She'd still have acted the way she did. And any other prosecution might not have managed to get the case back on track. _You_ managed that, Jocelyn. And you knew her style, better than any other. No one else could have fought her so well. You brought back Mark's reputation even when she had him torn down. Yes, everyone was reckless, as you said. But you managed to bring it to a point where we all thought the verdict should be secure. You did that. It was the jury who failed." Maggie downs the remains of her tea. "And Beth knows that. She knows you did the best you could with what you had. _That's_ what matters now." She meets Jocelyn's eyes, nodding with conviction, and is reassured to see a small glint of hope flicker.

"D'you think they'll be strong enough?" Jocelyn repeats her question from earlier.

Maggie slowly shakes her head. "I...don't know." She looks across to the curtains, blocking out the view of the town. Her town. Her people. "Oh I hope so. I really do." She pauses. "They have a good support network. And I think Beth has come to terms with Ellie, which matters. They always had such a strong friendship, and I felt that Beth was really feeling the loss of that these last few months, even though..." 

"Yes." Jocelyn's head rests on one side, as she seems to consider the thought. She breathes out, seeming relieved. "Yes. That friendship will help them both. That's good."

"And Broadchurch will help." Maggie nods again. "We look after our own here."

"That's what you like about the town, isn't it? The 'community spirit'." Jocelyn laughs, a short, hard sound. 

Maggie rolls her eyes. "You'd be thankful for community spirit if you'd travelled the country witnessing the exact opposite. Places where no one has a nice word to say about anyone. Broadchurch seemed like a haven compared to that."

"And does it still?" Jocelyn glances at her, eyes twinkling and belying an almost court-like enquiry in her tone. "Seem like a haven?"

"You know it does." Maggie finds a trace of bitterness in her voice. "If only the jury had come from here. If only we had been the ones..."

Jocelyn has the wit to stay silent, but even in that, Maggie can hear her defence of the system.

"Oh I know it's better they have nothing to do with the case, I know that really." She replies to the unspoken comment. "But why couldn't they come back with the right verdict, Jocelyn? Why? You gave them everything they needed."

"But Sharon gave them just enough to doubt. And honestly Maggie, in another town, in another court... I can't swear I wouldn't have done the same. Not for the same crime, maybe. But I've used the same opening for a closing argument..." Jocelyn sighs again, a heavy, dull sound. " _I_ taught her that."

Maggie nods, ruminating. "It's very different being involved in a case personally. I must have reported on a hundred big trials when I worked for the Herald. It's a long time ago, but I have no memory of any of them getting to me like this..."

"It's different when it's personal." Jocelyn agrees. "Even for me. I'd always managed to keep work and home separate, in a sense...until now. It's not easy." She pauses. "Do you think… Do you think they'll forgive me? For not getting the result they wanted?" The question is clearly bothering her.

"Beth and Mark?"

"Everyone. You know as well as I do what it means to the town." 

To her discomfort, Maggie realises she doesn't know the answer. Beth might be angry at first, but she will calm down and come to reason eventually. Mark... Mark will feel betrayed by the system - rightly so - for some time, but he knows Jocelyn has done her best. But the town, the regular folk of Broadchurch... 

Maggie shakes her head. "Ask me that another day. When I feel inclined to look kindly on the intelligence of people. Right now it would take a stiff drink for me to look positively on the world." She stifles a yawn. "And we never did finish that Gin."

Jocelyn snakes a hand under the cover and down Maggie's thigh. "I think we found a better way to drown our sorrows..." Her lips twist up in a suggestive smirk, and she glances at Maggie from under her eyelashes. 

"Mmmhhhmmm." The sound of approval Maggie makes changes into another yawn. "Ohh, but I am weary. Sorry petal, but I think I might need to lie down..." 

Nodding, Jocelyn takes the empty mug from her and sets it over on the bedside table. Maggie divests herself of her remaining clothing before throwing it loosely to the foot of the bed. Then she turns her pillow flat and eases herself horizontal, resting her hand underneath her head. She smiles up at Jocelyn looking down at her, a soft expression lingering about her eyes and lips. 

"What?" Jocelyn quirks an eyebrow.

Maggie grins. "Nothing. You just look so content."

Jocelyn seems to laugh to herself silently, her shoulders twitch and her head flicks up. "Perhaps I never dreamed of this. Sitting in bed with my intrepid reporter, drinking cocoa. It seems so domesticated."

"Well, when you put it like that..." Maggie reaches her hand up to stroke Jocelyn's bare arm, feels a shiver of anticipation at her touch. "But this journalist needs her beauty sleep to be worth anything in the morning."

"Alright!" Jocelyn chuckles and reaches for the light switch, before snuggling down to face Maggie. She can feel Jocelyn's breath on her nose, and leans in to share a kiss, before turning herself over and pulling Jocelyn's arm around her.

"Night, petal."

oOo

Jocelyn isn't sure whether it's her mind or her hands that have come to consciousness first. Her eyes are still closed, her body relaxed and warm, her thoughts slow and tender. She isn't even sure what, exactly, started this ascent towards waking. She was dreaming, she knows - and it was pleasant, but the images are slipping away by the second to be replaced by suggestion and arousal. She can feel Maggie squirm against her, burrowing in close, hand reaching back to her waist, her thigh, her leg. One of her own hands rests on Maggie's shoulder, the other cups her hip, stroking the soft skin underneath, fingers reaching, teasing, touching. Slowly, Jocelyn opens one eye to the darkness, leans her head forward till Maggie's hair tickles her nose. Dipping her head, then, she kisses the nape of Maggie's neck, rubs her cheek on her shoulder. Part of her knows she could leave it at this; go back to sleep, cuddling Maggie to her. It's probably what she should do, a little voice says. But Jocelyn has heeded that voice all too long. And Maggie is here now, rubbing against her in such a tempting way. She can feel herself getting wetter - and more awake - by the minute.

If Jocelyn had dreamt of sleeping with Maggie, it had been thoughts of going to sleep together, warm and sated. Or of waking up in the dawn and snuggling in the early morning light. She had imagined what their sex might be like many times, but it had never crossed her mind that this might happen. She shuts her eyes again, nudges her nose in further to Maggie's neck and inhales deeply. Maggie's fingers splay across her midriff, tantalising in their movement. Jocelyn reaches over to catch Maggie's tummy under her fingers; stroking, dipping to the triangle of hair below. Against her breast, she feels Maggie sigh with pleasure. She smooths her right hand over Maggie's back, between them, and wriggles it under to cup Maggie's waist from below. She is warm and tender to the touch, and Jocelyn never wants to stop. How many years has she not touched Maggie, wasted time that is lost to the past. 

By dint of wriggling, Maggie manages to dip two fingers into Jocelyn, the sensation they cause as they touch her makes Jocelyn gasp. She is never going to get used to how good this feels. Sex with other people, in the past, had made her feel powerful, stimulated, energised... But now, here, with Maggie, it makes every ounce of her being feel alive. As if her skin sings with the pleasure of it all. Completely awake now - albeit as if in a dream, Jocelyn feels almost as if she is floating in a sort of cocoon - all there is in here is the bed, Maggie and her. There is nothing outside, nothing that makes her feel quite like this. She cants her hips closer in and up to Maggie's hand, reaches her own arm down, over Maggie's tummy, till she can just feel the soft liquid smoothness with the tips of her fingers. Sighs with the sheer pleasure of the experience.

Jocelyn shifts again, to get a better reach over Maggie's body, causing Maggie's own hand to fall away as she half turns in, toward her. Even in the dark, even with her eyes closed, Jocelyn can feel Maggie opening herself up to her. Her right hand is still underneath Maggie's back, thumb stroking a pattern over her hip. She shifts a leg over Maggie's, relishing the way their skin slides together; dips her hand further inside of Maggie, gentle, exploratory. Nudges her nose up against Maggie's chin, until their lips find each other. 

With slow, soft movements, Jocelyn touches up against Maggie's clit, smoothing her fingers just inside of her, out again. As Maggie's breath draws more ragged, whispering approval in her ear, Jocelyn lowers her lips to kiss her throat, collarbone, the tops of her breasts. Lays her head on Maggie's chest to hear her heartbeat rising in tempo; moves her fingers to the same beat. It isn't long before Maggie begins to twitch, her whispers give way to murmurs, give way to small cries of pleasure. Jocelyn lifts her head again to touch her lips to Maggie's cheek, her temple, her forehead, as Maggie burrows her head into Jocelyn's neck, begging incoherently. And then, with one last, lingering stroke of Jocelyn's finger, Maggie comes, arching and pressing herself into Jocelyn, as if they could never be close enough, as if they could only exist as one single being. She lifts her hands to cradle Maggie to her, kissing the top of her head, the tip of her ear. 

They lie like that for some time, Jocelyn isn't sure how long; their breathing in tandem, slowing in increments. Then, after a pause, Maggie whispers in her ear.

"Turn over."

Jocelyn does, wondering. Her skin seems to slide through Maggie's hands, feather light touches that electrify and tantalise. Wrapped up as she is in the experience, Jocelyn isn't quite sure how Maggie manages it, but somehow she has both hands touching into her. One arm reaches over her hip, and Maggie is stroking her with a delicacy that arouses her more than she thought possible. Meanwhile her other hand curls through from behind, one finger edging inside of her, smooth and soft, ever deeper; the others cupping her heat. Jocelyn's breath catches at the sensation of being so completely held and pleasured. Of it's own accord, her head arches back into Maggie, who lowers her mouth to Jocelyn's neck, pressing kisses, soft and rich with suggestion, into her. Then Jocelyn feels Maggie tongue the very bottom of her earlobe; licking and sucking, ever gentle. As if by chain reaction, Jocelyn is aware of heat surge in her tummy, senses herself getting wetter, feels Maggie's fingers delight in the liquid smoothness. She pushes herself down onto Maggie's hands, wordlessly begging for more; firmer, faster. 

Maggie complies, her own breath shifting against Jocelyn's neck; and it seems like everything is designed to make her feel even more aroused, as if she could come now even if Maggie didn't move her fingers again. But Jocelyn can't bear the thought of that, and rubs herself into Maggie's waiting hands, a groan escaping, giving voice to her arousal. _This_. _This_ is what she has longed for from before she could even put words to it. _This_ is what her body is made for, to be pressed close into Maggie, to have Maggie's fingers within her, touching, stroking, urging. _Come. Be with me_. And Jocelyn _is_ , so completely as she shudders and jerks in Maggie's gentle hold. Somewhere above her, she can hear a cry of delight, and then Jocelyn realises that she herself is giving voice to the pleasure of it all. As her movements become slower until only an occasional twitch remains, Jocelyn begins to roll herself over, to rub her cheek against Maggie's, to seek out her lips, to try and convey something of how she feels in one kiss. It's impossible, of course, but she has to let it out somehow. 

It is Maggie who breaks the kiss, to whisper, awed: "You are exquisite." She strokes Jocelyn's cheek with a finger still damp. 

Jocelyn leans her forehead in to Maggie until they touch, and searches for some way of responding adequately, but no words come. 

"So are you." It's only a murmur, and it doesn't do justice to the way Jocelyn's body is tingling all over, or how her heart feels like it has finally been made whole - but it's all she has at this moment. She nuzzles into Maggie's neck, surprised - and a little reassured - to realise her eyes have been closed all this time. She could have sworn she had seen Maggie's responses - but of course, she couldn't have, not in the pitch black. She smiles inwardly, a deep sense of overwhelming peace flooding through her body.

oOo

The earliest glints of dawn are reaching through the crack in the curtains when Jocelyn wakes up. As her eyes become accustomed to the gloom, she can just make out the line of Maggie's head on the pillow beside her. Her hand lies curled underneath her jaw, her fringe, ever untidy, scattered across her forehead. Her other arm is reached out, fingers just touching Jocelyn's elbow. Jocelyn props herself up on one arm, and spends a few minutes considering Maggie. There is a look of utter contentment on her face; a small smile lies etched around her lips and crinkled around her eyes. Her breathing is deep and even, just audible in the silence of the room.

Outside, the dawn chorus are beginning, first one voice, then another - soon it seems like a cacophony, coming so quickly on top of the former quiet. Jocelyn shakes her head in slight amazement that Maggie sleeps on, undisturbed by the noise. For herself, she has never felt more alive or awake than in that moment. The endless possibility of life spreads out before her, and Jocelyn knows in her heart that Maggie was right. _The next one_ will _be different._ And suddenly, she knows how. Carefully, so as not to disturb Maggie's rest, Jocelyn edges herself out of the bed. Pads across the floor in her bare feet, grabs her dressing gown from the back of the door. Eases the handle round, pulls the door towards her, steps out of the room, holding the door so it doesn't make even the softest click as it closes behind her. 

The files she wants are in the spare room, stored along with so much else on a high bookcase. It is the work of minutes to get them, though she sways unsteadily on the bed when reaching up. Coffee. She wants a freshly brewed mug of coffee, and a cigarette. Jocelyn makes her way, silent as a cat, down the stairs and into the kitchen. Her heart is racing, her mind feels eager for the challenge ahead. Somewhere over these past few weeks, she has woken up, and now - now that fire for which she was known has been relit in her, and God, how she has missed it. It has been years - three, exactly - since she started the day with a coffee. 

The pot made, Jocelyn goes into the conservatory and stares in wonder at the dawn in front of her. The sky is aglow with colour, lit with a burning orange sun on the sealine. Streaks of pink flare across strips of cloud, contrasting against the vivid turquoise of early morning. What a time to be alive! She curls up in her chair, file on her knee; lights a cigarette, inhales deeply and picks up her coffee. The discrepancies leap off the page at her. How had she not seen them before? The grounds for appeal are there alright, hidden in plain sight. Jocelyn chuckles to herself before taking another deep pull on her cigarette. Somehow, in her being so absorbed with her reading, it has burned down to nearly nothing. Meanwhile the sun is rising ever higher in the sky; the light is changing before her eyes. 

"Good morning!" Jocelyn hears the smile in Maggie's voice before she turns to see her; threadbare dressing gown wrapped around her, giving minuscule tempting views of the skin it purports to cover. 

"You're up early!" Jocelyn rises to slip a hand around Maggie's waist, lowers her lips to kiss Maggie's upturned face; first on the forehead, then on her nose, then finally on her mouth, lingering there until Maggie speaks again. 

"So're you, considering how late we finally got to sleep."

"That's your own fault!" Jocelyn grins broadly, the sheer wellbeing she feels sinking into her shoulders, changing how she holds herself. 

Maggie snorts. "It was you who started it!"

" _I_ was asleep!" Jocelyn protests, as her smile grows wider.

"Well your _hands_ were awake." Maggie's expression is a delight to behold, and Jocelyn can't help but laugh as she traces the smirk on Maggie's cheeks.

"Whichever way it was..." She kisses Maggie again as answer to the debate. "Coffee?"

"Mm, love some, petal."

Jocelyn trails her hand round Maggie's waist as she slips past her into the kitchen to pour another mug. When she gets back to the conservatory, Maggie is glancing at the mess of papers, a smile playing about her face. She looks up, trying to assume innocence, Jocelyn thinks, and failing madly. 

"You're right." Jocelyn hands Maggie the mug and clears off her seat to sit down. "I'm _not_ ready to give up. I still have work to do." 

Maggie grins widely.

"What?" Jocelyn demands, scanning her face for any suggestion.

"Nothing..."

"Tell me!"

Maggie shakes her head, eyes twinkling. "You're practically radiant. It's just such a joy to see. It really is."

Jocelyn nods, able to accept the compliment. "I suppose I am. Mind you, I have good reason... Even if saying so does make you look like that."

"Like what?"

"Smug!" Jocelyn enjoys the deepening smile on Maggie's face, the way her eyes shine and the tiny movement of acquiescence in her shoulders. "And also, I've realised..." She pauses to watch Maggie's reaction. "I've realised I'm no longer afraid."

Maggie nods, and if she could see herself, Jocelyn thinks, she would know that she too is glowing. It's been a long time since Jocelyn has seen Maggie this at ease, this much herself. She hugs the moment to herself, smiling for the both of them, for the days ahead.


End file.
